The World Comes Crashing Down
by DelightMeWithYourScreams
Summary: Loki has to face justice for waging war against the Earth. In Asgard, when a member of the royal family is put on a trial, the court which is to judge them is made up of a representative from each of the Nine Realms. Tony is chosen as the representative of Midgard and has to deal with otherworldly politics and a prisoner who threw him out of a window once.
1. Chapter 1

Most of the times, what you want is out of your reach, Tony tells himself.

Not that kind of _out of your reach_ that means _too fucking far away for every human being (and godly being, if one of your friends happens to be an Asgardian)_, though; rather, it's the kind that means _you'd grab it if you just held your hand out a little bit more_, when you are desperately trying to wrap your fingers around it, but you never manage to.

You can only have little things and have to fight for every single one of them. That is something everyone should learn as soon as possible, in Tony's opinion, so that life doesn't disappoint them. Or, well, so that it happens less often, because life always disappoints you, no matter how many years you've lived through or how many things you've been taught.

To prove his point, he makes examples, starting with himself.

When he was a kid, he wanted a father and never quite got one, only to be told that he was Howard's best creation twenty years after the man's death.

When he grew up, he wanted to be loved – even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even himself – but he kept Pepper at an arm's length, until she got the message and started going out with Happy. Now, he has to give it to life that sometimes it's your own fault if you don't get what you want, but still.

He doesn't know whose fault it is if Loki didn't get what he wanted. He doesn't even know what he wanted or what he wants now. Honestly, he doesn't care: he had never been the selfless type and what's more, Loki is the one who's tried to take over the Earth and kill them all. He would just be happy that the god was worlds away from him and his Tower, which he has just rebuilt.

The problem is, Asgard is an ally, as Thor himself, beloved Prince of the Golden Realm, stated.

The second problem is, Tony works for the government now. He doesn't do diplomacy, everyone knows that, but he's one of Thor's friends and that's why he's gone to fucking Asgard as a representative of Midgardians. _And it's not like you can have the President going through a magical portal_, Coulson told him, that annoying smile of his plastered on his face. His ribs are still healing, but his sarcasm doesn't seem affected, much to Tony's disappointment.

The truth is, people are cowards. It doesn't matter if Thor saved the Earth, they would only remember what Loki did. That's why Fury put him in charge of taking part in Loki's trial, because he's Iron Man and he has to protect people and sacrifice himself for others – Fury doesn't give a shit that he'd rather cut the wire than lie down on it, he's the boss and no one questions the boss's decisions, not even Tony fucking Stark.

This is how Tony finds himself in the royal palace of the Golden Realm, clad in a black suit with a white shirt and a red tie, carrying his Mark VIII in a suitcase together with his clothes and hiding his metal bracelets under his sleeves.

He feels like he's stupid or anybody he comes across is, the last one sounding more like the right option. He's only ever seen clothes like those at fairs or on Thor and it's quite a shock that now everyone is wearing them and is staring at him as though he's the one dressed up like Snow White.

As he tries to ignore them and follows Thor closely down the corridors, he begins to understand how the God of Thunder must have felt like when he first fell on Earth, lost and alone and desperate – and Tony's not even _alone_, much less _desperate_.

"Hey," he says, speeding up to walk next to Thor, "what are trials like here? I mean, do you execute people in the court or something?"

Thor's shoulders tense up at the mention of an execution and Tony virtually slaps himself in the face – it's still his friend's younger brother they're talking about here, after all. "When the defendant is a member of the royal family, a representative from every realm is gathered, when possible," he starts in a slow tone, as if talking physically pains him. He looks pointedly in front of him, but Tony has a feeling that he doesn't see anything except Loki in chains. "Loki's crimes will be declared publicly, then he will defend himself and the representatives will vote for his freedom, death, exile or imprisonment. It's Odin, though, who is in charge of the ultimate decision".

Tony hears a strange noise and realizes it's his stomach clutching. Basically, Thor is telling him that his father is going to choose whether to kill his brother or throw him into a cell forever.

He clears his throat and dismisses the sarcastic attitude. As much as he'd approve any scenario where Loki is brought as far away as possible, the God of Thunder is still one of his friends, so he takes on his most serious expression and adds, "How long do you think it'll take? 'Cause I've got a few things I have to take care about…"

That catches Thor's attention and has him emerging from his thoughts. He furrows his brows and casts him a strange look that gives Tony shivers. "Did Fury not tell you?", the Asgardian wonders aloud in a confused tone.

Tony's voice may or may not sound a little too high-pitched. "Tell _what_?"

"Considering this is a very important trial, I esteem that it will take from one to two months or more," Thor explains, looking apologetic. "Especially because it involves all of the nobles from the Nine Realms. They are not known to be particularly punctual, nor do they get on very well with one another".

No, Fury didn't tell him that he would be stuck in another world for _months_.

Before Tony can consider destroying something to cheer himself up, Thor halts in front of a door and a servant hurries to open it for them. The God of Thunder introduces him to a large room with a golden canopy bed, a big wardrobe made of finely inlaid oaken wood and a magnificent fresco on the ceiling, portraying some Asgardians fighting against five-legged horned beings – Tony suspects Thor has mentioned them before, but he can't quite recall when.

"Wow," is all that leaves the Midgardian's mouth at that sight. "Well, that's… impressive".

"Do you like it, Tony Stark?" The Asgardian beams and for a second he looks like the old Thor again, but then his smile breaks into a pained grimace and his joy fades back to sadness again when he remembers the reason why Tony will be enjoying the room for a while. "If you need anything, you can ask the attendants. If you will excuse me, I have to go and talk to my father now".

Tony shrugs and claps his shoulder. "Okay, Point Break, see you later," he says in what he hopes is an encouraging tone.

Fuck, why does he have to do this? He's never been particularly good at comforting people. He pays Pepper for a reason and yet he's the one who has to cheer up a _god_.

Thor nods and walks back to the door. Before leaving, he clears his throat and remarks, clearly embarrassed: "You may want to don something more fitting for dinner. You will find some clothes in the wardrobe".

That awkward moment when the God of Thunder gives you advice about _clothes_.

Then the door slides closed behind Thor's back and Tony's left alone, disbelieving and mind-cursing. It takes him ten seconds to stop gaping at the door and start unpacking his things instead. He hasn't brought much with him, except for a few pieces of tech he can tinker with and some projects he wants to finish, so he ends up sitting on the bed and getting bored to death after a few minutes.

He decides to go for a walk around the palace, because it's not like he's kind of a prisoner there – though he feels like one.

There's a servant in the hallway besides the door, so silent and discreet that Tony startles when the man speaks up, "Is there anything you require, Lord Stark?"

He's tall and slim and has got short blonde hair and green eyes that don't dare to look directly into his own, making him feel weird. He wears some sort of white tunic, a thin brown belt around his waist and golden bracelets around his wrists and right below his shoulders.

"Uh, no… Not really". Tony straightens his back and tries to look less clumsy and more self-confident. "What's your name, by the way?"

The servant arches an eyebrow. "Siegfried, my lord".

"Well, Siegfried, I don't know what to do until evening, so will you show me around, please? I don't want to wander around and, you know, get in trouble or something if I find out Thor's dirty little secrets".

Siegfried shifts uneasily upon hearing the host talking that freely about his master. "As you wish, my lord. Would you like to visit some room in particular?"

"Maybe you can introduce me to some beautiful girls, can't you, Sieg? You get a bonus if alcohol's involved". Tony nudges him and shoots him a grin, Siegfried looks away and wonders why the Hel he's the one in charge of the odd visitor, then he remembers about Mephisto and has to admit that Stark is not that bad, compared to him.

"Yes, my lord. Please, follow me".

Tony thanks himself for being a genius while the servant leads him through a labyrinth of corridors he'd never be able to learn by heart and lets him into a golden hall where wonderful maids are pouring some honey-colored liquor into goblets and offering them to a group of men and women gathered around a long rectangular table. There are also some servants, dressed up as Siegfried, leaning against the walls, waiting, and Tony doesn't need his attendant whispering in his ear to know he's facing the representatives from the other Realms.

Taking his presence into account, they stop chattering and turn towards him; even though they look only slightly similar to humans, Tony is quite used to getting stared down like that, so he strides towards them sporting a charming smile.

"Please to meet you," he greets gently. "I'm Tony Stark and…"

He gets interrupted by the most graceful woman he's ever seen. She's tall, taller than any earthly woman, she's got pale, smooth skin, silver hair tucked into a braid and golden eyes. Her dress shines like its fabric comes from the moon itself and the crown placed right above her perfectly shaped brows is made of two thin strings of silver intertwined together.

"Oh, the Midgardian," she says, cocking her head to the side, her voice like silk, singing in Tony's ears. "The human. Man of Iron, they call you, am I correct?"

Tony would take offence, wasn't he hypnotized by her voice and appearance. He snaps back into consciousness right before she might think he's tardy or something. "Ye-yeah, I'm definitely myself. I mean, the Man of Iron. Nice to meet you, miss—"

"Titania of Álfaheimr, daughter of Gunhild, Queen of the Liósálfar," she replies, eying the hand Tony's offering her in curiosity until he lowers his arm.

Something happens then, like the queen's introduction is a signal for the others to be kind as well, like Tony's just been tested and passed the exam.

A red-skinned man with flaming hair and goatee throws him a smirk as he stands up from his seat to walk up to him. He's the only one other than Tony wearing an earthly suit and that makes the Midgardian feel easier – at least until the stranger introduces himself.

"I'm Mephisto of Hell – two l's, please, I've got nothing to do with dear Hela. Old friend Surtur, the king of Múspellheimr, couldn't take part to the trial unfortunately, so he asked me to pay a visit on his behalf".

This time Tony doesn't hold his hand out, but Mephisto does and Tony feels kind of dizzy because he's shaking hands with a fucking _demon_.

"Ullr of Vanaheimr," a sturdy man with blonde hair and black eyes spits without making any move to approach him, "son of Sif".

"You're joining us, aren't you?" Mephisto invites him, practically dragging him into an available chair between him and Titania – it's not like you can say no to a demon and get away with it.

A maid appears behind him with a goblet full of that bright liquor they're all drinking and Tony gives her a smile that makes red petals blossom on her rosy cheeks while she retreats as silently as she got closer.

"So," Mephisto wonders casually, "how are things going on Earth? You know, I don't get to visit it much often, there are always so many souls to take care of and so little time to do it".

He sighs and Tony isn't sure whether he should comfort him or shiver at the thought of his _job_, so he just downs half of his glass and relishes the warm sensation curling in his stomach, making him numb and careless enough as to not dally too much on who he's talking to.

"Well, it's been quite a mess lately, what with the Chitauri's attack and everything," he shrugs casually, lifting his goblet to get it promptly filled again from the same maid as before. "We're fixing things anyways, nothing to worry about".

"I heard Loki's army has nearly destroyed one of your cities," Titania intervenes in a concerned tone. "Is that so?"

Suddenly all that Tony wants is to satisfy her curiosity and that's got definitely something to do with her voice or her beauty or a combination of the two – or maybe even magic, because Tony Stark never gets so fascinated by a woman, but it's rather the other way around.

"Well, there's been some collateral damages, but we punched the fu—" He hesitates, "I mean, we won and they'll think twice the next time they consider conquering the Earth".

Titania's expression is unreadable, though Tony suspects she's amused when she replies, "I must say Midgard did catch my attention by defeating the Chitauri. Is it true that you defeated them with only a few heroes?"

"Six, myself included," Tony nods. "Plus some help from secret agents, who aren't exactly what one would call proper _heroes_, but you get the picture".

"You're the one Loki threw out of a window, aren't you?" Mephisto chuckles, though his gaze is intent as he inspects him carefully.

"I gave him a lesson for that," the Midgardian dismisses the remark with a nonchalant shrug.

"Aye". Titania flutters her eyelashes and Tony feels his heart leap inside his chest. "Quite impressive, in my opinion".

He realizes the elf is flattering him and quirks an eyebrow at her, wondering what she hopes to get from him. She gives nothing away for now, though, so he can't do much more than be patient.

"Well, thank you, my lady," he smiles pleasantly, but some of her charm doesn't affect him anymore already. Tony Stark doesn't like being toyed with. "That wasn't this big of a deal, anyway".

She notices the change in his demeanor and a spark of surprise enlightens her beautiful eyes.

_Too smart for you, my queen?_, the man muses to himself, flashing her a shit-eating grin as he finishes his second glass of liquor.

"What's this called like, by the way?" he wonders aloud, turning his attention away from her on purpose. Bitch, please, it's Tony Stark you're dealing with. "It's great. We don't have anything of the sort on Earth".

It's Ullr who answers curtly, "Hydromel of the finest honey in Vanaheimr. A gift from my people".

No one has mentioned Loki once, the only exception being the window thing. They're studying each other: they act like friends, but Tony doesn't doubt they'd stab each other behind their back on a whim. He can't quite figure Ullr out yet, but Mephisto and Titania would definitely do something like that.

Since they all seem resolute to keep up with the sham, he asks straightaway, his voice calm and peaceful as though he's talking about the weather, "So, what are you going to vote for? Freedom, exile, imprisonment or death? I know the trial hasn't even started yet, but I think we all know that Loki did what he did, so you must have an idea already".

The friendly chattering grows tense before fading away as they exchange unsure glances, even Titania looking bewildered. Tony pretends he doesn't notice they're delaying the answer, because that's a matter at least two of them will disagree on and they won't be able to play best friends forever anymore.

Politics, he muses to himself, is the same on every planet. He just can't bring himself to enjoy it.

That's why he turned down the president's offer to become a Congressman. He's _oh so not _going to put up with their shit all day, being Iron Man is already tiring enough, as much as he loves it.

"Loki has always been dangerous". Surprisingly enough, Ullr is the first one to speak up. One of his hands clenches into a fist as he goes on, "This is only the latest proof of that. He was already given the opportunity of exile once: I shall vote for imprisonment".

Tony curses himself for neglecting to ask Thor about the people of the other realms: he's sure the Vanir in front of him would be more than happy to vote for Loki's death, but something stops him and the Midgardian desperately wants to know what. Knowledge is power and he's got too little of both at the moment.

Mephisto shrugs the question away, apparently untouched. "Imprisonment, I guess, unless Surtur changes his mind".

Titania hasn't said anything yet, which catches everyone's attention. The elf stares intently at nothing in particular before murmuring, low and solemn, "I shall not make my decision before the time comes. I do agree with Ullr, though: Loki has proved himself dangerous from the start. It was only a matter of time before we had to deal with him".

The tension slowly gives in to thaw when Mephisto stretches his impossibly slim limbs like a cat and stands up. "Well," he yawns, "it's getting late, so I'd better get back to my room and make myself presentable. See you later, gentlemen—" he winks flirtatiously at Titania, who just scoffs, as though she's used to his none-too-subtle attempts at courting her, "—and ladies".

The last one he throws a careful look at before leaving, though, is Tony, who's getting more and more annoyed because they all seem up to something concerning him and he can't get _what the fuck it is_.

The others follow him suit, leaving the Midgardian alone with the maids and Siegfried. Under any other circumstances Tony would talk one of the girls into his bedroom and rush her out some ten minutes before dinner to get properly cleaned and dressed, but he beckons at his servant instead and gestures for him to sit onto a chair next to his own.

Siegfried looks put out by his silent demand, but obliges regardless and takes his seat nervously, unsure of how to react when he's being treated like he's Tony's equal. "Aye, my lord?"

"Please," Tony waves his hand disdainfully, "stop the whole "my lord" thing, it's getting pretty creepy. Tell me something about them instead. Who are them and why were they playing all nice and pleasant?"

It takes Siegfried only a few seconds to settle with the host's oddities. He is part of the royal bondage, after all. If Stark is going to act as if he were a free man, a free man he shall be. "They are curious, my lor—" He clears his throat, "We have never had a representative from Midgard before. Your Realm stood out during the war against the Chitauri and the other sovereigns will probably try to lure you into an alliance".

"Oh". That puts an unsettling grin on the man's face, though he's still worried. One thing is to deal with humans, another one is to handle the attention of such powerful beings. "So, basically they're fighting over me".

He's almost sure the Asgardian wants to smile, but he's quick at hiding it and sobering. "That is a rather original way to phrase it, but aye".

Tony lets out a laugh – he's starting to seriously appreciate this man – then he asks, "Any advice about who's the most dangerous?"

The servant hesitates and the Midgardian has a feeling that it isn't a good thing. "Both Mephisto and Lady Titania are gifted with magic, while Lord Ullr is a talented swordsman. I would suggest that you did not madden any of them for no reason whatsoever, lest you have something to trade for in exchange for your life".

"Well, thanks for the blunt honesty," Tony mumbles, running a hand through his hair nervously.

Fury's oh so going to meet his lawyers when he comes back to Earth – and if he doesn't, he'll write it in his will so that Pepper arranges the meeting after his funeral.

Siegfried ducks his head to the side and, weren't they talking about Tony's life, the Midgardian would suspect he was _amused_.

When the man speaks, though, his voice sounds genuinely concerned, "In my opinion, you should not worry about them too much. You are one of the Prince's friend and he would never let any harm befall you", and Tony's only starting to realize how precious his friend is to his people.

He would lie if he said he liked Thor from the beginning, but, after their first _disagreement_ in the forest, he couldn't help but get to appreciate him.

The God of Thunder is loud and sometimes so dull that it should be illegal, but he's always right there, a solid presence on his side he knows he can count on.

People don't need wars to claim someone as their king. They need somebody they can rely on.

And that's when Tony first thinks Thor is going to be a good king someday.

He pats his servant's shoulder and gifts him with a satisfied smile as he replies, "One last thing, Sieg. Will you help me choose something to wear for dinner? Thor's made it quite clear that I'm not dressed properly like this".

He points at his attire and the Asgardian hums softly in agreement before he realizes that he's undeniably insulting the host's clothes, but Tony just breaks into laughter as the servant's face flushes red.

The Midgardian gestures for him to wait outside of the room and approaches the maid from before to thank her for her kindness and ask her name.

Her cheeks take on a pleasant shade of red as she murmurs softly, "Greta, my lord", and lowers her head as to avoid meeting his gaze. She's got beautiful brown locks that curl up on the end and wide blue eyes and Tony wonders if the royal family would take offence if he bedded one of their servants. Maybe he should ask Thor later.

When he leaves, he feels her gaze on his back and knows he's made a good impression and is likely to see her again. Perhaps he will find ways to entertain himself while stuck there, after all.

While walking their way back to his bedroom, they come across a squad of guards that don't spare them a second glace as they head in their opposite direction, long swords hanging from their belts and golden armors shining under the light coming from the torches aligned on the walls. Asgardians like gold a lot, Tony considers briefly.

"Where are they going?" he interrogates Siegfried when their footsteps disappear around a corner.

The man stiffens as though Tony's words sting and responds in a low, careful voice, "Prince Loki's cell".

People don't need wars to claim someone as their king.

Loki brought them a war and promised he would win, assuming that they would accept him if he did, that they would deem him worthy of the crown, while all they wished for was a peaceful kingdom to live in. Loki wanted to be respected, but ended up getting incarcerated by the very ones he longed to impress.

Most of the times, what you want is out of your reach, Tony tells himself.

On the contrary, the worst mistake you could ever think of sticks to your fingers like tar and you just can't help yourself but make it.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki feels at peace.

It has been a week since the Tesseract lost her hold on him: it gives him a sensation he hasn't experienced in a long time, odd and familiar at the same time, like he has just come back home after a year. Home is his mind, the sensation is freedom.

He didn't realize that he had been held in a cage until the day of his defeat. His body was imprisoned – his hands cuffed, his mouth muzzled – while his soul found escape – his eyes turning green again, his head clearing.

_Who controls the would-be-king?_

The thought that Thor was right and he was wrong would make him laugh, were his lips not sealed.

He sees now.

He knows that Thanos was controlling him; and through Thanos, the Tesseract, making his thirst for revenge and ambition blossom as he was falling from the Bifrost.

He remembers hitting the ground, the searing pain shaking him, the fear and despair overwhelming him. He remembers the Chitauri taking him before Thanos, the ancient being showing him the Tesseract. He remembers the light of her eating up the darkness he was drowning in, teaching him about worlds and magic and power, soothing his pain of being chased away from the realm he should reign over.

These memories he clung to when she asked him to take the nine dimensions for her in exchange for a place where he would be as respected as he deserved. These memories she let him have, swallowing everything else.

She is gone now and Loki remembers _everything else_ too.

He remembers the Chitauri beating him and humiliating him with handcuffs around his neck, wrists and ankles, as though he was a dog, before he met Thanos. He remembers the Tesseract threatening to shatter his mind to pieces when he first tried to resist, depriving him of his magic and his will to replace them with her own. He remembers the light of her blinding him until he screamed and fell again, this time to Earth.

He remembers and concocts and waits, and when the time comes, he will be ready.

He will lurk in any realm, barren moon or crevice where Thanos will look for him and he will make the dark creature long for something as generous as death.

When the door opens and Thor appears on the threshold, Loki barely lifts his head up to acknowledge his presence. The light from outside wounds him and he sighs in relief when his brother leaves the door ajar and only a feeble golden arrow pierces the otherwise dark room.

The cell is so narrow that Thor can take only a few footsteps to stand in front of him.

"Brother," he calls, that sole word sounding like a litany of pain, and reaches out to touch his face.

Loki lets him, but the look he gives him makes the God of Thunder cringe and lower his arm.

Thor doesn't glance away from him, even though what he sees in his younger brother's eyes resembles a beast rather than a man, even though it scares him and makes him want to grab Loki by his shoulders and shake him until he is his beloved brother once again, the one he used to play with when he was but a child.

The God of Mischief stares at him as if his thoughts were written all over his face and _smirks_, Thor feels that smirk like fire burning his skin and doesn't need to take the muzzle off to know it is there.

The God of Thunder doesn't have any chain binding him to the wall so that he can't even walk or sit, doesn't have any gag preventing him from talking, doesn't have wounds all over his body that have yet to heal because he won't let the Asgardian physicians touch him. Loki does, and yet he fixes him with that mocking gaze and smirks and Thor wishes he could fall on his knees and cry, but that isn't what it is expected of a king.

He is forced to remind himself of the reason why he came here in the first place: because he didn't want Odin to tell Loki about the trial, because the All-Father is the king and can't help his son, as much as he craves for it, and Thor isn't the king and thus can. Because he is his younger brother's only hope and he can't consider fleeing from the room like a coward.

So he straightens and doesn't tremble in front of that stare anymore. "Brother, the representatives from Niflheimr, Jötunheimr and Svartálfaheimr have yet to join us. When they do, the trial will begin," he states in a stern tone.

Loki barely blinks.

His brother takes a deep breath and goes on, "I cannot say this will be easy. You have given reasons to vote against you to most of the representatives. I am not sure they would choose exile or imprisonment rather than…" He trails off and swallows that word, _death_. "That is why you need to turn them into allies, so that the judgment will be merciful".

There is no point in lying and hypothesizing that somebody may vote for freedom, because both he and Loki know no one will. The best the God of Mischief can hope for is to spend some centuries in the darkness of that room. He will be alive, though, Thor tells himself, and that is what matters most.

His younger brother's gaze shows both disbelief and mockery. He doesn't have to speak for the God of Thunder to know what he would say if he could.

Loki would make a fool of him because he is desperate to save him after forcing him in chains, he would refuse his aid stubbornly and fight his love with blazing fire even though he is the only one burning himself. He would scoff and laugh at him like he used to do when they were children and Thor couldn't sleep because he was afraid to find a Jötunn lurking under his bed. He would act like _Loki_, but he can't, he only casts him those dreadful glances.

Choking on hatred as he is, his brother looks far too similar to the monster he was scared of as a kid.

"I will try to persuade them that you deserve another opportunity," he assures, but Loki doesn't react. Thor dares to place his arms on the God of Mischief's shoulders and leans towards him until their foreheads touch. It is the closest thing to a hug they can share right now – Loki sighs, unable to push him away, and Thor holds him tighter. "You are my brother, Loki. I will never let you die. Please, let me help you. Please".

Unlike his brother, Thor can't find it in himself to appreciate the wait, but for Loki, wait he does, until the prisoner makes the slightest of movements and shrugs.

His brother's smile is so wide that the God of Mischief arches an eyebrow and wonders if it is going to split his head in two. It would be quite amusing, in his opinion, but it doesn't happen, Thor just doesn't stop beaming like a fool and crashing his shoulders happily before he realizes that twitch in Loki's lips _might be_ a grimace rather than a smile and he removes his hands from him.

"I am sure I will manage to convince them somehow, brother," he declares proudly. "Tony Stark is a good man and you did collaborate with Mephisto sometimes, did you not? I think…"

As astonished as Loki is that Thor actually _thinks_, he stops listening.

Tony Stark. It isn't surprising that they have chosen him: as far as they know, he was the only man who managed to elude his magic. What they do _not_ know, though, is that Stark's glowing contraption stopped the attempt at mind-control of the Tesseract, not Loki's powers. As far as they know, Tony Stark is safe.

Regardless of the muzzle, Loki grins.

He knows better.

While his brother keeps on rambling enthusiastically, he has a plan.

Siegfried has had to go through several suits before Tony finds something that caters to his tastes: a close-fitting, black tunic whose threads are braided with the rings of a thin, golden chainmail – useless as an armor, but quite fashionable as a piece of clothing, his servant explains duly – worn under a red chestplate, paired with skintight black leather pants and kneel-length black boots with golden straps. It looks like a combination of Iron Man and Thor's own attire, Tony muses as he admires himself in the mirror.

Siegfried's suggested that he wore a red cape, too, but that'd be _way too_ similar to Thor, so Tony dismisses the advice with a wave of his hand, winks at his reflection and rewards his servant with a smug grin, "You rock, Sieg. I look absolutely amazing".

The Asgardian can't help but smile at his host's none-too-subtle self-importance. He likes him more than he anticipated. Well, since he anticipated that the man would do something like setting his room on fire – as Mephisto did some years ago – Stark is surprising him by just being harmless. Furthermore, he does find him most amusing, even though his composure doesn't give anything away.

"Aye, you do," he admits honestly and the human turns around to shoot him a wholehearted smile. "Though, if I may, I daresay that you are also late. Shall I lead the way to the feasting hall?"

"The star's always allowed to be a bit late," the Midgardian shields himself with a shrug, then he points towards the door. "I'll be right behind you".

The feasting hall is the biggest dining room Tony's ever seen, even bigger than the hall where he has met the other representatives. There are golden columns supporting an arched ceiling, a long table in the center of the place and the sky in the gaps between the pillars, much bluer than the sky you can see from Earth, with clouds so close he can see each ebony string they're made of.

As soon as he spots the other guests, he's thankful for Siegfried's aesthetic sense. They're all wearing elaborated pieces of clothing, but Tony doesn't feel like an idiot with a suit anymore. He blends with them smoothly and wins numerous sideways, approving glances from the same maids and menservants who were laughing at his odd appearance some hours ago. Tony can't really blame them since he poked fun at Thor the first time he's seen him, but he can't even blame himself for considering wearing a signboard that says, _Don't stare, you'll consume me_.

He strolls into the hall as though it's his own and throws smirks to whoever he comes across. He's just realized that Siegfried's disappeared somewhere, probably to join the other servants, when Thor spots him and tries to crack his bones in a welcome hug. "Good evening, Tony Stark!" he booms and smiles as he lets him breathe again. "I daresay this choice of clothing suits you pleasantly, my friend," he adds with a proud grin, and were Tony less cool, he'd gape at him, because the God of Thunder is bragging about being _stylish_.

It's starting to freak him out. Seriously.

"Yeah… well, thanks," he manages, coughing lightly, but Thor doesn't even notice his awkwardness, grabs his arm and goes on, "Come, my friend! My father is impatient to meet you!"

From the look Odin gives him – one you could fix some kind of exotic insect with – Tony isn't sure the All-Father is all that crazy about meeting him.

Another man – another _Midgardian_ – would have cringed in front of that one-eyed exam, but he's Tony Stark, so he wears his most charming smile and holds out his hand, deliberately pretending he doesn't know that they're not familiar with shaking hands in Asgard. "Hey, nice to meet you".

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Thor lets out this strangled noise that Tony isn't sure whether to classify as an attempt of the Asgardian's tongue to kill its owner or rather the consequence of Thor's realization that he's wearing too tight underwear. If he didn't know better, he'd say the God of Thunder is staring at him as if he's somewhat mad because he dares talk to Odin like that.

The All-Father himself looks a bit taken aback – and, man, isn't it flattering that he's been able to surprise _Odin_ – but regains his composure and dips his head to acquiescence his introduction. He doesn't spare his hand a second glance, though.

The first one to speak after Tony is the woman next to Odin. She's beautiful, with curly blonde locks and large blue eyes that feel like they can see deep inside of him, but don't judge him, only regard him warmly. Like a mother.

Tony discovers he's more in awe in front of her rather than Odin: he's used to the All-Father's detached attitude, courtesy of Howard Stark, while he can't quite figure out how he should deal with such a hearty approach.

"Tony Stark, is it?" the woman says gently, taking his still extended hand with her own. "One of my son Thor's dearest friend, I heard. I am Frigga, Thor and Loki's mother". She regards Thor fondly for a moment before turning to Tony once again, fixing him with a stare he'll never forget. "Thank you for being here". The stare of a mother whose son could be condemned tomorrow by the same man she's thanking, but she thanks him nonetheless.

Tony places his other hand on hers and nods. "You don't need to thank me, madam".

He's trying to tell her that he's sorry – and strangely enough, he actually is – and to comfort her, as much as a stranger could ever comfort a worried mother.

She probably understands, because her smile seems a little brighter.

"Will you do us the honor to sit next to my son tonight?" Frigga inquires politely, nodding towards the table. Tony falters, but she must have already concluded that she isn't going to be disrespectful to anyone by inviting him instead of someone else, because her gaze is steady as she waits for his answer.

"The honor is mine," he agrees while looking both at Frigga and Odin, as though searching for the latter's approval, too.

The All-Father doesn't soften a single bit, but there's acceptance in his sole eye. "Welcome to Asgard, Man of Iron".

Another exam passed, it seems.

When Odin motions to sit down at the head of the table, everyone else does, like the All-Father is the sea and his guests the sand – or, like Odin is some kind of conductor and the others dancers in a musical.

The second option forces Tony to hide a shit-eating grin as he takes a seat next to Thor. Titania settles next to Frigga, right in front of him, Mephisto slides into the spot on her left and Ullr chooses the place on Tony's right.

As soon as the last one has settled down, four servants enters the hall promptly, carrying on one shoulder a silvery tray featuring a huge roasted boar that makes Tony's stomach sigh. He suspects that he isn't going to see a pizza again anytime soon. Much to his comfort, Titania regards the dish the servants place in front of her with the same chagrin.

Odin doesn't have to tap a glass with his fork, breathing is more than enough to gain attention. Tony wonders what happens when he sneezes.

"We would like to thank all of you for coming," he utters in a solemn voice that echoes through the columns and reverberates in the whole room, making Tony shiver in awe. "Unfortunately, we are not here under happy circumstances," Frigga lays a hand on his arm and Thor's face darkens, "though we do appreciate your presence. Now, let us commence the meal".

Tony prods his meat gingerly before taking a bite. Surprisingly, he finds out his stomach isn't shut as he thought and he even likes the taste.

It must be because he grew up with vultures starving for his carcass, but he doesn't feel as affected as a common human being would be by Odin's display of gratitude towards the same people who came to kill his son. He should be worried by his overall calm, though not being affected doesn't mean not feeling disgusted, and all he can do right now is be grateful for his apathy.

As he raises the fork up to his mouth to take another mouthful of food, he notices someone standing in the doorway. He doesn't recognize them at first, but his eyes widen as he takes in all the blood staining their ripped clothes and the cuts adorning every bare inch of skin.

Then the stranger takes a step into the light and Tony drops the fork, which falls on the plate with a loud clink.

He doesn't give a damn that everyone's staring at him now, because Loki is fucking _smiling_.

Unchained, unhinged and _smiling_.

His smirk creeps underneath Tony's skin as his mind desperately seeks a way out of that which won't end up with him in the graveyard.

Someone grabs his shoulder, he turns and meets Thor's frown. "Are you fine, my friend?"

"I…" Tony's eyes hurry back in Loki's direction, but the God of Mischief has disappeared as though he has never been there in the first place. The Midgardian blinks and gapes at the empty entrance before the realization that he's making a fool of himself downs on him and he shakes his head. "Don't worry, I'm okay".

Even Thor is smart enough to know that he's lying and he surveys Tony carefully while the others resume their eating. "Are you sure?" the God of Thunder presses him.

Mephisto is quicker at answering: "Maybe roast boar is too much for you?"

The demon is watching him intently, studying him, taking in his reactions as though he were some sort of experiment and Mephisto was the crazy scientist trying to turn him into Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Tony weighs his response heedfully and gazes at him as he utters each word with deliberate slowness, almost drawling: "Maybe it is. We don't eat so much on Earth".

Mephisto smiles, and Tony knows.

He knows that Mephisto knows what he's seen.

His knuckles ache to meet the demon's nose and smash his posh glasses, but he forces his fingers to concentrate on holding the fork as he matches that smirk with a snarky grin. "What about you? I thought you only ate… you know," he makes a vague gesture with his free hand, "_human souls_".

"I do," Mephisto nods, his smile the terrifying, silent snarl of a beast feasting with your innards, "though I also appreciate something different from time to time".

Tony's own grin doesn't even falter. Mephisto is going to eat shit and he will have the immense pleasure to feed him.

He's about to reply something scathing, when he catches Titania following their conversation with sheer amusement, her dish left practically untouched, her gaze glinting with interest.

He sneaks a quick glance in Ullr's direction, but the man seems totally absorbed by his meal. Well, at least one of them doesn't spend all of their time watching him like a freak.

Having dinner with them feels like sitting among lions glaring at each other to claim the prey as their own. As long as they confront one another, Tony is safe, but what if one of them overtakes the others?

He looks at Mephisto's smile, a tiny smudge of blood smearing the corner of his lips, and at Titania's diverted gaze, eyes gleaming dangerously.

They will eat him alive – and some representatives haven't even arrived yet.

True to his previous words, he leaves half of the meat, but Thor is more than happy to finish it all on his behalf. After Tony reassures him a third time, the God of Thunder stops worrying for him like a frighteningly masculine mother and resumes his usual boisterous attitude.

He hasn't noticed the way Tony is being hunted, or, if he has, he's playing dumb – and Tony hopes he is, because he needs allies in all of this. He doesn't know what he needs them for yet, but he's afraid that he'll find out far sooner than he'd like to. Maybe he just needs somebody that prevents him from going nuts.

When he feels a breath ghosting on his neck and a low laugh in his ear and almost suits up in shock, he nods to himself. He definitely needs allies.

When Loki opens his eyes, he is not in his cell anymore. He feels like he is floating in darkness, weightless, chainless. _Free_. His eyelids fall shut again as he inhales deeply, his _seidhr_ seeping in his surroundings, long, invisible tentacles roaming, exploring, providing him with information concerning his whereabouts.

"I thought it was Nightmare who held power over, well, nightmares," he states calmly. He doesn't need to open his eyes again to see, he can very well picture the room – if one can call it a _room_ – with his magic.

Mephisto shrugs, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "I borrowed some of his skills for a while. You know, he owed me. How are you doing, by the way? I heard you don't have much magic left after you got imprisoned".

A smile tugs at the God of Mischief's lips. "Are you talking about that little stunt I pulled?"

"Your _little stunt_ almost drove the poor little human crazy," the demon retorts, though he isn't scolding him. He looks more curious than reprimanding. Loki smirks. As partial to an alliance as he may act like, Mephisto has always liked deals more than dealers. If he offers him something interesting enough, the demon will not resist the temptation, regardless of whose trust he will have to betray.

"Did you come here to discuss my pastimes?" the God of Mischief asks, arching an eyebrow.

Mephisto drops his mindless façade and shoots him an intent look as he picks his words cautiously. "You don't have enough power to cast a spell on him". He doesn't question and Loki doesn't answer. "He says you can't control him because of that glowing thing in his chest…" He draws a circle on his own torso with his index finger. "But you can. You can get into his head without draining your _seidhr_. How?"

Loki bares his teeth when he grins. "I did not know you would grow so interested in a petty human. Do you not get tired of seeing them every day in your kingdom?" he remarks, ducking his head to the side.

"Oh, everyone is interested in Stark right now," Mephisto replies in a casual tone. "He's the new attraction of the court. Even Titania likes him".

"Desperate for such a lesser creature to join their sides," the God of Mischief mocks in a disdainful voice. "What about you, though? Would you rather have him or me?"

"Why don't you simply ask me to help you get out of here?"

The demon is starting to let his guard down, asking him straightaway instead of playing along, and that is when Loki wins. "Because you would turn my offer down. Why would you free me and risk that the Nine Realms assemble against you?"

Mephisto opens his arms as if to encompass their surroundings. "What am I doing here, then?"

"You are right, I can _get into his head_, as you put it, but not completely. That would require a price I cannot pay in my current conditions". If he still had the staff, he might be able to cast some minor spells, but he would be subjected to the Tesseract in return and perhaps this time there would be no coming back from being controlled. "I need to be able to speak to him. What I ask of you is that you give me the power to".

The demon looks unabashed. "What do I get in exchange for that?"

The God of Mischief wants to laugh, because Thor _was_ right. Mephisto _does_ collaborate with him every now and again. "There is a war coming, Mephisto," he reveals in a conspiring tone, his eyes shining with malice. "We both know it will not end with the trial. It has been getting closer and closer ever since I fell from the Bifrost. None of us can escape it. All we can do is fight. Whose side will you choose?"

"You sound so self-confident". Mephisto's eyebrows shoot up as he scoffs. "What exactly makes you think I'll choose yours? You don't look like you'll win and you should know I like winning".

"Well, consider your options," Loki invites him cordially. "The alliance with Álfaheimr is feeble, though perhaps Titania will honor it nonetheless". He spells _honor_ as if it is a foolish game only played by children. "Since Ullr is Sif's son, the Vanir will probably observe the truce, too. What about the others? Surtur is doing nothing but waiting for an opportunity to march against Odin, Hela hates the All-Father for cursing her with her domain, Malekith _aches_ to wage war against Titania or Odin, the Jötnar have been humiliated by the Asgardians. Who do you suppose they will join if it comes to fighting? I can offer them everything, Odin only concedes them crumbs".

"What about the Earth? They've already stopped you once. All by themselves".

This time, the God of Mischief actually laughs. "Can you not see my point? Among Midgardians, only a few of them can live up to us, one of them being Anthony Stark. They are a threat when they are together, but divide them," he pauses and clenches his hand into a fist, a dark smile dancing on his lips, "and you will shatter them to pieces".

"_Divide et impera_," Mephisto muses more to himself than to Loki, whose smile widens as he waits. The demon's hands settle behind his back once again when he inquires: "Well, what makes you think that I won't leave you here to rot while I lure them on my side and win the war?"

As he speaks, though, they both know what the answer is.

The God of Mischief cocks his head to the side and pats him on the shoulder, friendly at first, but then his fingers dig fiercely into the skin. "Remember your place, Mephisto," he murmurs, voice dripping sweet venom. "Would you really turn against me? For what? Odin's mercy?"

The demon glances at him, _sees_ him, his power, his skills.

When the Tesseract blinded his mind and maimed his _seidhr_, he wasn't that much of a worry, but now it is different. Because Loki has seen worlds and knows how to take advantage of that.

Mephisto does consider his options and, as much as he can't trust the Liesmith, he'd be made fun of, like, _forever_, if Odin granted him an amnesty. Hela would probably die laughing – figuratively speaking, of course. The demon scowls at the thought.

"You owe me, Loki," he seals the deal briefly. "Oh, and clean yourself up, _for Heaven's sake_, you look like you've been through _hell_!"

He knows that kind of humor sucks, but he can't help himself. Anyways, it works so much better on humans, who usually scream in utter horror and plead that he doesn't kill them. Loki barely quirks an eyebrow.

"I will pay my debt soon," he swears, his smile a bloodthirsty blade in the darkness.

* * *

Thanks for your lovely reviews, you really made my day!  
The next chapter should be up far sooner than this, since I've already written it. :) Many thanks to my beta-reader dumedipaoli, too!


	3. Chapter 3

Heimdall has been watching over Asgard long before Loki was even born. No one had ever been able to escape his ever-seeing gaze _before_ Loki was born and only one _after_, that one being the God of Mischief himself. He hid in the shadows between the dimensions, where Heimdall's eyes couldn't cleave, and made a deal with Laufey.

Heimdall doesn't respect him as his prince anymore and is much more careful now, though on the other hand Loki doesn't have to follow the rules anymore and is much more powerful now, so when he slips into the metaphysical world, leaving his body behind, Heimdall doesn't notice.

The light of the torches would have hurt him, had he been there with his physical body, but he isn't and the fire entices him instead of harming him. It shines bright, blue and golden and bloody red, and the God of Mischief dips his fingers into the flames and twiddles them, watching as the blazes dance around them, trying to bite, eat up, destroy. It fascinates him as if he were a child seeing it for the first time – _the first time since he had been captured_.

There are six guards outside of his cell, unsuspecting of his absence. Loki regards them coolly for a moment: it would be so easy to sneak a hand into their chests, clutch their hearts and watch as they die without even knowing what is killing them. They would regret caging him like a beast and laughing at the fallen prince, crawl at his feet and plead for him to forgive them.

It would also deprive him of the power Mephisto granted him, though, and in the end he only floats away, leaving them alive and oblivious of the danger.

He doesn't need to seek for his target, he feels his device powering his heart and sees the faint blue trace it leaves in its wake. If Stark knew that he managed to build some contrivance able to store magic, maybe someday he would become a proper menace; as for now, though, he represents an advantage that Loki is determined to exploit.

The Midgardian is sound asleep, sprawled onto the bed in the midst of messy bed-sheets and feminine limbs. The God of Mischief recognizes some maidservant he might have come across a few times lying next to the mortal and an amused smirk tugs at his lips as he slips inside of her body.

She tries to fight, but is still half-asleep and Loki takes control of her easily, pushing her soul in a corner until he won't need her anymore. She cries out loudly and struggles for freedom, though her screams go unheard and the god barely smiles at her attempts.

He stretches his womanly arms and legs cat-like, relishing his newfound physicality: separating his soul, his very self, from the protection offered by his body makes him feel like an exposed nerve, despite it being a useful trick. He slides closer to Stark, who moans sleepily when the maid's breast press against his back and mumbles something that sounds similar to "you're gorgeous, baby, but you don't want to drain me, do you now?".

It has Loki breaking into a devious grin as his hand crawls up the man's spine in a light caress and suddenly snaps closed around his neck.

The Midgardian's eyes flutter open while he inhales sharply and fights to jerk Loki's fingers away from his throat. He doesn't recognize him, of course, and stares incredulously at the smirk playing on what he believes are the woman's lips when his own are taking on an unhealthy shade of blue instead.

Then the god lets him go and Stark retreats as far away as he can without standing up from the bed, eying him suspiciously. "What. The. Fuck," are the first words he manages to utter after his cough quells.

Loki lies on his side and blows him a mocking kiss. "The pleasure is all mine," he sneers.

Tony's brain may or may not black out for a few seconds when such a masculine, all-too-familiar voice drawls out of the maid's mouth. He blinks, gapes, hopes he's having a fucking nightmare but no, because there's something green and murderous shimmering in the woman's once blue eyes as she lets the sheet that's supposed to cover her skid down and settle on her waist.

For once, no pang of desire tickles him at that sight.

For once, all he'd _love_ to do is run out of the fucking room and find refuge in Thor's. Or Frigga's, for that matter, as long as _that thing_ stays away from him.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he snarls, his voice thick with slumber, his eyes wide with astonishment, his hair scruffy and tousled. He shakes his head in rapid, feverish fits, shooting his eyebrows up above his hairline in exasperation. "Can you, you know," he gestures for the door pointedly, "stop harassing people while they're having dinner or trying to sleep when you're supposed to be locked up in a cell? Are you dressing up as Casper or something?"

"As entertaining as it might be to answer to your every question," Loki gives him a one-shouldered shrug and looks like he – _she?_ – is boneless and terrifies the hell out of Tony, "I believe the first one is the most significant. I do want something from you, after all".

And that's how Tony gets to know what Loki wants after wondering about it not even twenty-four hours prior.

If that is God's sense of humor, he isn't sure he likes it.

"I want to help you," the god – the _other_ god – utters simply.

Of all the things that Tony expects, this doesn't even appear on the list, what with _Loki_ and _help_ sounding downright _off_ in the same sentence, whether they aren't separated by _doesn't_ or _never_.

A strangled yelp raises from his lips in reaction and it's pretty embarrassing that gaping at Loki is becoming somewhat a habit, but he can't help it. "And what would I need your help for exactly?"

"This," Loki says and Tony would definitely tell him to fuck off if the god didn't drop the tight-lipped attitude soon after: "This trial they have involved you in, when it was absolutely unnecessary to put you in such an unpleasant position".

As much as Tony agrees on that, he feels compelled not to reveal it by something that's strongly similar to _morals_ and it honestly gives him creeps. "That's very sweet of you actually, but since when did you fall in love with me? Just saying".

The god isn't necessarily listening to him, though. "This is the first time a Midgardian has ever got invited in Asgard, Stark. Have you asked yourself why?" Hell, if Loki doesn't know when to make a proper pause and have him hanging on his words, although begrudgingly. "Only a little while ago, no one would have spared your petty realm a second glance and now suddenly everyone tries to make friends with you. Odd, isn't it?"

"Well, a little while ago we didn't have superpowers," Tony shoots back in an obvious tone. "It's not like one can blame them. I wouldn't take an ant too seriously, would you?"

The allusion doesn't elicit the desired reaction: Loki's smile widens instead of withering and his eyes shimmer with amusement instead of irritation, which kind of makes Tony want to punch him in the face, if only he weren't a _she_ for the time being.

"I would not, though neither would I treat an ant as my equal, should it even distinguish itself among its kin. They do not wish for your alliance, Stark. All they want is to defeat the menace you represent: no matter how friendly they act, they could never have an insignificant mortal trying to live up to them. They will even kill you if the urge arises".

Which kind of makes sense and only stirs up Tony's annoyance more.

"Obviously, you have the solution to get me out of trouble, don't you?" he wonders in a sarcastic tone, furrowing his brows. He can't see where Loki is going with this yet, but as long as the god doesn't try to strangle him again, he believes he can handle a bit of conversing. Maybe Loki has just got tired of being alone in a cell and that is what the God of Mischief does whereas other people start to talk to themselves.

"We are both unwelcomed here, although on the surface it looks like the other way around for you," the god whispers softly, soothingly almost, as if he's trying to persuade a child by singing a sweet lullaby, his voice like silk, his eyes captivating like magnets.

Tony isn't having any of that, though. "Yeah, too bad you tried to kill my friends and enslave my petty planet".

Unexpectedly, Loki throws his head back and breaks into laughter and that is one of the most dreadful sounds that Tony has ever heard. "But you stopped me, have you perhaps forgotten? And what did they do for you in exchange for it? They sent you here against your will and forced you to take it upon yourself to deal with things they are frightened of".

Tony scoffs, unfazed. "Well-played, really, but I'd rather help people that didn't throw me out of a window".

Before he can even finish his sentence, Loki is so close, with his legs wrapped around the man's waist and his palms pressed against his chest for the sake of balance, that he could drown in the bottomless wells of his eyes. The remnants of his laugh are still echoing in Tony's ears as the god looks down at him with a solemn expression, despite their compromising position.

"I made you see the sky, Stark," he whispers intently, weighing his every word. "You will realize soon that I am right. On that day, I suggest that you consider my offer carefully. We could do so much together".

He isn't joking or trying to flatter him; as their eyes lock, Tony knows he is admitting approval.

And then Loki is gone, and he is left alone with a passed out maid slumped in his lap.

Tony exhales a breath that he didn't realize he was holding and shakes his head slowly. An alliance between them is never going to happen, not only because Loki might give him a heart attack sooner or later, but mostly because the price would be so high that the god hasn't dared mention it even once.

He is woken up the following day by Siegfried warning him that it is already two in the afternoon and the trial is due to begin soon.

When the servant walks him to the entrance of the throne hall – whose doors are still closed – and he finds Loki, clad in his female form, busy with greeting the other delegates, he doesn't go into cardiac arrest for a split-second. No, he doesn't.

It's only after his ARC reactor nearly blows up in his chest that he takes a better look at the woman and sighs in relief, because she's not Loki, in spite of their similar appearance. She has the same pale skin, green eyes and long black locks, but her cheekbones are a tad softer and her nose – from what he can see from her profile – is snubbed, while Loki's is more aquiline.

When she catches him staring and turns, he can tell she's definitely _not_ Loki: the other half of her face is grey and rotting, one of her eyes is bloodshot and half of her lips is black.

Tony fights back a wave of disgust as he heads in her direction and introduces himself with a charming smile. _Allies_, he reminds himself. Especially after his terrifying encounter with Loki, he has to make some – and he may or may not feel a bit of an asshole for throwing the maid out of the bedroom a few minutes after the god disappeared.

"My name's Tony Stark. Who do I have the pleasure to speak to?"

The woman seems unabashed by his attempt at kindness. "Hela of Niflheimr, daughter of Loki". Well, that explains why they look so alike. Besides, Loki's daughter being half Frankenstein sounds legit to him.

He waits, but she only regards him coolly.

Mephisto claps his back and winds an arm around her shoulders, breaking the awkward silence stretching between them with a loud laugh. "Don't worry, Mr. Stark, dear Lady Hela here is a bit shy to strangers, aren't you, sweetheart?"

In Tony's opinion, Hela is all but shy when she glares daggers at Mephisto and gets rid of his arm with the same grace of someone who'd love to maim you but eventually decides against it. "I would rather you kept your distance, Mephisto," she remarks in an icy yet gentle tone. She's menacing as _hell_, no pun intended.

"Friendly as always, my lady," he grins, clearly unaffected by her disdainful rejection.

"Whereas you are as obnoxious as always," intervenes an unfamiliar voice coming from a tall man whose features vaguely recall Titania's, but are way sharper and darker. Part of his face is white, the other half is black and he sports waist-length white hair folded in a neat braid that falls on one of his shoulders.

The demon wriggles his eyebrows in annoyance and rolls his eyes. "Malekith, can I say it's not a pleasure to see you again?" he whines, folding his arms over his chest.

"The feeling is mutual," the elf deadpans without wavering and acknowledges Tony by furrowing his brows. "Tony Stark of Midgard". He grips the ends of his dark cloak to prevent it from sweeping the ground as he bends slightly forward in half a bow. "I am Malekith of Svartálfaheimr, son of Regin, King of the Svartálfar".

There is a dark aura about him that makes Tony want to take a step backwards. Although there's no hostility in his gaze as Malekith observes him with simple curiosity, Tony knows there is something wrong about him, something that he can't quite place but knows is lurking in the darkness, waiting to strike.

"Well, nice to meet you". He manages a grin in an attempt at easing the tension that goes unnoticed, since Malekith doesn't mimic it.

"There's no use in trying to make friends with him," Mephisto warns him in a riled tone. "He'll probably pretend he tolerates you and stab you in the back by calling you _obnoxious_". It should be a harmless joke, but the way the demon gazes at him makes Tony aware that there must be something else to it.

"I have never pretended I tolerated you," is the dark elf's ruthless response.

Hela is watching the scene unfold in front of her and lifts up the elegant eyebrow of the hale side of her face, but doesn't speak a word. Ullr's reaction is a scornful snort in Malekith's direction, which in turn earns a glare from Titania – Malekith is of the same kind as her, after all. More or less so, anyway.

Suddenly, the golden doors to the throne hall swing open and Odin makes his entrance, followed suit by Thor and four Asgardians Tony has never met before. Three are men, two of them tall and lean, the third staggeringly bulky, while the fourth warrior is actually a woman, and a rather beautiful one for that matter.

The chattering ceases as they go to a halt in front of them and the doors close before Tony can catch a glimpse of what's going on inside the room.

The All-Father looks even less sociable than the night before – which may be a downside effect due to Frigga's absence, other than the matter at hand – as he gives a curt nod in Malekith's and Hela's direction and clears his throat.

"Since all of the representatives have readied themselves," and this is when Tony has the strange feeling that he's talking about him, "the trial is to commence". He takes a deep breath and for a fleeting moment Tony thinks that he's never seen an older, more tired man. He wonders if the others noticed it, too, and steals a glance in their direction: if any of them is satisfied with Odin's weakness, they don't give it away so easily. Then the All-Father speaks again and Tony snaps back into attention. "For those of you who are here for the first time, I will now explain the way the trial will develop. Today, Loki's prosecutor will name the accusations and provide evidence and the defendant will be given the opportunity to object. Afterwards, the court will have one day to return the verdict".

It sounds neat and easy, but Tony knows it won't be, as long as it involves Loki.

Since no one asks questions, Odin turns on his heels without adding another word, like someone who's used to be followed immediately. So it happens, actually, with Thor being the first one to hurry after him.

Tony would like to talk to his friend, since he has had no occasion to since the previous day, but the four warriors stand in his way and Mephisto catches up with him, flaring eyes oddly serious – and _flaring_ in the literal sense of the word. He leans towards him conspiratorially and whispers in too low a voice for anyone else to hear: "Don't trust Malekith".

As much as he'd love to raise his eyebrows because a demon is worrying about him, he does so mostly because he's already figured out that much on his own, thank you very much.

What does take him aback is Mephisto's next murmur: "Message courtesy of Loki, my dear".

Before he can even turn to face the demon, he's already disappeared somewhere around Titania or Hela.

The throne hall is even bigger than the feasting hall, clearly built to contain the whole Asgardian population. There are nine benches aligned along the right wall and two thrones on a platform at the end of the room across from the entrance. Sitting behind the sole desk on the left side of the hall, Loki barely acquiesces their arrival.

Perched on one of the thrones, Frigga makes something disappear up the sleeve of her long dress before any of them can see what it is but, judging from the streak of pain that her pleasant expression betrays, Tony is pretty sure it's a handkerchief.

They must have shared a pretty tense moment, if the way Loki stares stubbornly at the wall in front of him is anything to go by. He's forced to rest his arms on the wooden surface of the table, cuffed at the wrists by thick chains.

There's a name carved into each bench, but Tony doesn't recognize the alphabet and stares at the unintelligible words numbly until a voice offers mercifully: "Yours is the fifth from the left".

He nearly chokes on the _thank you_ he's on the verge of saying when he locks eyes with Malekith pointing at his seat. The dark elf's gaze burns through him and the man's fingers are itching to press the button on his metal bracelets and activate his suit. "Hey, thanks, pal," he replies instead, flashing him a bright, shit-eating grin.

Malekith looks shocked by such an informal approach – if his eyes widening the slightest bit can be considered being _shocked_ – but simply shrugs his uneasiness away, nods and positions himself on his bench.

Odin sits on the available throne with Thor standing at his side and the four warriors spreading out behind the royal family, like silent guardians.

Loki doesn't bother gifting Odin with a single glance when the All-Father takes the floor.

"The court is now in session to sentence Loki Odinson—"

The God of Mischief's head snaps up so quickly that Tony almost jumps in his seat. "I would rather that my name was not mistaken. It is Loki _Laufeyson_," he spits, his voice like a snake's hiss, his eyes flaming with barely restrained fury.

Tony's admiration towards Odin increases tenfold as the All-Father doesn't even blink at being stared down with such hatred.

"Loki Laufeyson, then," he accepts with a curt nod. "The court is in session to sentence Loki Laufeyson, who has been accused of treachery against Asgard and Midgard alike. Who is the prosecutor?"

When Thor stands up and moves to the center of the room as if he's about to be executed, Tony may or may not feel guilty, because the God of Thunder is taking what should have been his place, since Loki had declared war against the Earth, not Asgard. At the time they discussed that matter, before they came to Asgard, Tony was more than happy to accept his friend's offer; now, the sight of sheer grief tearing holes in Thor's usually beaming face makes him sick.

"I, Thor Odinson, heir to the throne of Asgard," the God of Thunder announces in his powerful voice, although he doesn't dare look at his brother, who isn't paying attention to him either.

His hard gaze digs into Tony's skin, sees right through him, _knows_, and Tony knows, too.

Like everyone else in the courtroom, Loki expected him to be the prosecutor; unlike everyone else in the courtroom, Loki can figure out why it isn't happening. He knows too much and hates too much and wants too much – and Tony is frightened. He won't ever admit it out loud, let alone to himself, but he is. And Loki _knows_.

Odin's deep voice echoing through the hall as if he's everywhere has Tony forcing himself to tear his eyes off of the defendant. "Before Thor Odinson proceeds with the accusations, Loki, how do you plead yourself?"

Loki doesn't answer straightaway. He meets the attendees' gazes one by one and the slightest of smiles works its way on his lips when it's Tony's turn, but is gone as soon as he bypasses the empty bench on Tony's right and moves on to Malekith. He glances briefly at Thor and Frigga and at last bores his eyes into Odin's for what seems like forever.

"Why vex Thor with such a difficult task as giving a proper speech?" he drawls, opening his arms as if he's showing off. "I plead guilty".

Scratch that, he _is _showing off.

And that is when the world comes crashing down, because no one in the hall expected that.

Thor turns towards the defendant so quickly that Tony is surprised his neck doesn't break. "Brother!" he blurts out, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.

Much to Tony's bewilderment, the God of Thunder looks _betrayed_.

* * *

**Thanks to my readers, follower and beta-reader, dumedipaoli! I'd love to know what you think about this chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

Loki studies his nails like a bored housewife at the hairdresser's. "Why, I thought that was all of you wanted," he remarks, looking up from his hand. "Was it not now? None of you has any reason to wish for me to live. I cannot see why I should delay the inevitable. I plead guilty," he repeats, as though anyone needs to hear those words again.

Except for Odin _(figures)_, no one can hide their surprise. Some stare at Loki as if he's crazy – which he is, Tony nods to himself – some exchange uncertain glances; Thor hasn't torn his eyes off his brother yet and his hands tremble and clasp into fists at his sides. Frigga doesn't hold back her stupefaction, although she shows it in an odd way: she's quiet, dangerously so, and regards Loki like an angry mother would while reprimanding her child.

Loki must be under the same impression, because he doesn't turn towards her, not even once.

He chooses to hold Odin's hard gaze instead – he's easier to hate, easier to face without feeling ashamed of himself, of deceiving the woman who has loved him since the very first time she laid eyes on him.

The All-Father waits for the hall to fall silent again before speaking up: "You plead guilty of reaping uncountable innocent lives, betraying your own family's – the royal family of Asgard – trust and trying to enslave one of the sacred Nine Realms?"

_Wow_, Tony muses. _Sounds tough. A bit overdramatic, but effective_.

"Yes," Loki nods in a deliberately slow, defiant motion, "I do".

"This cannot be accepted!" Suddenly, Ullr stands up and risks dropping the chair backwards, but somehow manages not to. "The rules of the trial are to be followed, All-Father. Loki cannot do what he wants all the time. Even he is subjected to the laws of Asgard, is he not?"

"I cannot see how I am _not_ following the rules," Loki retorts sharply. "I have been asked a question and thus provided an answer".

"Your answer is tricky as your words always are!" the Vanir shouts back, enraged. "Why should we believe that you are so willing to accept the sentence? You are only trying to sneak around it, as you always do, you trickster. You are lucky that they did not seal your lips again".

That must strike a nerve with Loki, because he stills suddenly and looks ready to hurl himself at him. "Don't you ever dare talk to me like that again, you scum," he utters, more akin to an outraged prince than a prisoner.

When Titania's voice rises from her bench, everyone's attention is inevitably drawn to her as if she's some kind of magnet. Tony can't help but focus on her, too. Briefly, he wonders if Malekith can do the same and he shivers at the thought. Creepy.

"I daresay that Ullr has a point, All-Father," she states quietly. "Loki is known to be a trickster and a coward". Something dark and unpleasant crosses her beautiful features for a moment, but it's gone before Tony can even have a proper reaction. Loki dips his head to the side as she speaks, apparently regardless of her insults, and Tony would _love_ to know more about the intensity of the glances they're exchanging. "Why would he tell the truth, if it endangered him to the point of having him killed? I would not disregard the possibility that he is still conspiring with the Other. I suggest that we are as careful as possible".

Finally, the spell breaks and Tony finds himself capable of turning his attention away from the elf to study Loki, trying to read him but failing miserably. He recalls their encounter from the night before. _What do you want?_, he asks silently, as if the god could hear him.

Loki meets his eyes, but doesn't smile. He mouths something, Tony mimics the movements of his lips to understand and suddenly he does. _See_, Loki says.

Tony's still hypnotized by his mouth when Thor snatches him out of his contemplation by growling in Titania's direction: "My brother is not affected by the Other's magic anymore. His mind is sane once again".

Tony rewinds the last bit in his brain and processes that he might have lost something, because what's with this "Other" controlling Loki?

Tony Stark loathes many things, but what pisses him off the most is _not knowing_.

He's staring at Thor now, his so-called _friend_, who hasn't told him a shit, while every other attendant in the room isn't surprised at all, as if all of them already _knew_. He doesn't look at the God of Mischief, but knows he's chanting _see_ once again in that know-it-all, punch-me-in-the-face annoying way of his. What's even more unsettling is that Tony sees now.

Not even _Thor_ has troubled himself with giving him enough knowledge and as much as Thor isn't just that bright to put two and two together sometimes, no one else has cared about letting him know and that definitely is something. No one else, he has to correct himself begrudgingly, but Loki. Whereas everyone has turned their back on him, Loki has offered help.

_No matter how friendly they act, they could never have an insignificant mortal trying to live up to them_. Consequently, they're trying to hamper him in every way possible.

Odin raises his hand and invokes the silence again, this time looking much taller and mightier, towering over the hall like a marble statue. Thor looks still offended by Titania's accusations, but hushes nonetheless. Loki taps nonchalantly on the desk, humming in rhythm with his fingers thrumming against the wooden surface.

_Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat who wants to be here?_ Fury's voice echoes out of nowhere in his mind and Tony has to catch himself before nodding and making a fool of himself.

"I shall not tolerate your disrespectful behavior any longer," the entire Asgard thunders in the shape of one All-Father, shaking them to the core. "You" Ullr falters "have been welcomed in my abode as a member of my family and now you dare dishonor this sacred throne with your childish whims?"

The next, painfully serious look is for Thor. "And you, _my very son_, raising your voice against one of our guests!"

The God of Thunder looks away, mutters something under his breath and no one else has the gall to speak a word, not even Loki. Odin takes a deep breath and turns to his youngest son again: "By pleading guilty, you give up the opportunity of freedom. Is this your desire, Loki?"

The way he spells his son's name, that suffering click of his tongue against his palate when he pronounces the first syllable and the slow opening of his mouth when he drawls out the last _i_ makes Tony awfully aware that, if his dad had ever called his name like that, he would have forgiven him everything on the spot.

Loki sighs, annoyed that he has to repeat himself again, and that's when Tony thinks that he's dumb if he can't say how much his family loves him.

"It is my desire indeed, All-Father".

What Tony knows about politics, he's learnt it from Howard, who wanted him to be prepared to inherit the Stark Industries, and Fury, who wants him as a Congressman for S.H.I.E.L.D., like it or not. He couldn't care less about it, but he's thankful for those lessons now, because he can tell that Odin is compelled to go on with the trial instead of suspending it, otherwise the representatives will suspect that he's trying to protect his son from the verdict he deserves.

"Very well. The court will now deliberate your sentence then," the All-Father states emotionlessly.

Tony can also tell that no one else is happy about it, except for Loki. They wished for a longer trial, a longer time to make their moves in that huge chess game that the trickster is playing against all of them at a time – and Loki has their kings in check in a single, fluid motion.

As soon as Odin stops talking, as if he's summoned them somehow, four guards make their entrance discreetly, unchain Loki from the desk and drag him towards the doors, uncaring that his ankles are cuffed together and he nearly stumbles at being tugged so roughly. He manages not to fall, though, and walks out with his back straight and his chin lifted up proudly.

Tony almost expects Ullr to go nuts again after the God of Mischief is out, but the only thing filling the silence after Loki's departure is their breathing.

What he doesn't expect at all is to be the one to clear his voice first, leading fourteen pairs of eyes on him. Today it looks like it's the big day of surprises and it's not even his birthday. Well, it would be one hell of birthday if it actually was, anyway, and he should stop blabbering about his birthday in his mind when he's about to speak in front of an alien assemblage of nobles, because that's going to be awkward.

"I'd like to have a chat with him," he offers, holding Odin's attentive gaze as if he's the only one in the room other than him. It's the All-Father he needs to persuade, after all. "He can't try anything magical against me and I hold no big grudge against him, so, uh…" _So I won't lose it and ruin my chance to get him to talk._ That he doesn't say lest his head be cut off by Ullr. "I think I'll be able to make him sing his schemes like a bird. Well, I've already seen someone do it".

Thor makes the faintest of smiles in his direction when he gets the hint and remembers Natasha and Loki's face – which was, by all means, priceless.

Tony grins in turn, but he's deft at hiding it behind a fake cough while Odin dwells on his words, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is wise," he admits at last, "though I cannot make a decision on my own. What do the other delegates think?"

Hushed whispers follow that question as the aforementioned consult one another.

Tony keeps his eyes on the All-Father and his expression steady, yet he still feels like he's the center of the attention – for once in his life, it's unwanted.

"I deem it feasible," Titania nods at last. It doesn't surprise Tony much, since he already knows she seeks his approval and, better still, a way to make him owe her. If the way her lips curl upwards when he steals a glance in her direction is anything to go by, now she's sure she does.

The next one to accept is Mephisto, predictably. "The human wants to give the god a try? Why not? It'll be interesting," he says reasonably with a disinterested shrug.

"Would you risk Loki taking advantage of the Midgardian and escaping?" Ullr grumbles, although he sounds more displeased that he won't have the opportunity to give Loki the dear ol' I'll-Punch-You-In-The-Face speech than that Tony might be capitalized on through some mojo witchcraft, which doesn't ignite his disbelief either.

What does takes him aback is when Malekith's voice drones idly: "I agree with Titania. Furthermore, the Midgardian has already proved himself worthy of our trust". He's supporting his chin on his fisted hand, his elbow propped on the armrest of his bench, and he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. "I believe we shall make the best of every opportunity to conclude this trial rightfully".

Hearing it from Two-Face's twin brother is a tad disturbing and suddenly Tony envies them for not knowing Batman.

Hela is clipped and icy: "Let the Midgardian go".

Since Ullr doesn't object anymore, Odin gives Tony an earnest nod. "The court has spoken their mind, Anthony Stark. Now you shall be escorted to Loki's prison. If anything goes wrong, call for the guards".

Tony doesn't even try to memorize the labyrinth of hallways that separates him from the cells, it just happens, because he's a genius, remember?

The soldier shepherding him stalks down a staircase, making his way towards the underground cells, grey and cold as hell, and Loki's happens to be the furthest away from the surface, at the end of a passageway with no other doors whatsoever. They're scared of him, of what he can do – not that Tony can blame them, but the fact that the Asgardians fear him sends something unpleasant crawling down his spine.

There are three different bolts securing the door shut and something magical, too, because the sentinel whispers some lullaby to the wood and it opens ajar, showing only a patch of darkness.

Tony is harboring the suspect that the watchman isn't coming inside with him, which becomes obvious when the Asgardian steps aside and bows in his direction. "Be careful, sir," he murmurs, overlooking the door with a concerned face.

The Midgardian raises an eyebrow, but nods and crosses the doorway.

Thick tentacles of pitch-black obscurity wrap around him as soon as the door falls shut behind him and he has to squint to picture Loki's figure only a few steps ahead of him. Due to the lack of light, except for the thin thread of gold irradiating from under the door, he doesn't immediately realize what Loki is doing, with his arms spread and his back pressed against the wall. Then he sees the chains around his wrists and ankles, the muzzle on his mouth and his wounds, so many wounds which were previously hidden by the god's standing behind the desk and now unfold in a creepy scenery in front of Tony's eyes.

Too many wounds, the Midgardian muses to himself as he traces silently the atrocious painting of bruises and cuts on Loki's skin with his gaze.

"Yes, Stark," the god chuckles in a tired, awful voice, much different than the poised one he's used just before. "It is not your beastly friend's doing. What you are witnessing is Asgard's justice".

Of course he's trying to turn him against his own friends, Tony knows it, everyone would do the same, even _he_ would do the same, so he shouldn't be affected by such words, but the marks on Loki's body make it harder not to feel a surge of nausea towards Asgard's traditions, make it harder not to recall the cave in Afghanistan, the look on Yinsen's face as he died after weeks of torture and fear and hope.

"Not that you didn't deserve it," he blunders out, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't really believe that I'd buy some They're-All-Evil-I'm-The-Victim-Here sort of story, do you?"

"You got me," the god sneers in response. "How could I ever hope to outsmart your intelligence?"

"Flatterer," the man scoffs, "although I can't say you aren't right. As interesting as a subject it is, I didn't drop by to discuss my cleverness, anyway. In fact, you're the star for today".

Loki's laughter is so utterly broken that Tony's guts feel like they're getting turned inside out. "Oh, Stark, we both know it is _always_ about you, is it not? Who you came for is yourself and yourself alone. Mind me, I am not blaming you – I would do very much the same. I only demand that you did not treat me like a nincompoop". While Tony's racking his brain about whether he's ever heard the word _nincompoop_ before, the god drops his head to the side and something tells the Midgardian that he'd open his arms if he could, what with the kingly edge his tone takes on as he encourages him: "Now, bring your urgent matters to me".

Tony narrows his eyes. He's under the distinct impression that Loki is deriding somebody, but for once he isn't that somebody and can't understand the reference.

"Well, okay," he replies, coming to the conclusion that fooling around won't get him anywhere, not with the God of Lies. "There's something going on here, but it appears I'm not up to date with it".

He regrets the trace of noticeable irritation in his sentence right after he's uttered it – even though he doesn't doubt that Loki already knows the reason why he's there, he has the right to be bugged by it nonetheless.

"Poor man," the god croons soothingly, his eyebrows almost knitting in an understanding frown. "Abandoned by his very friends, forced to make a compromise with his enemy. Is it not honorable of you, to ignore our previous _disagreements_ for a greater good?"

And there he is, laughing about him again. What a pity he's the one risking to be thrown out of a window this time.

Tony tries to figure out the motive behind Loki's sudden outburst of hostility towards the one he wanted to become friends with only a few hours ago, but he fails, because the god is too twisted even for him and he's tired of all this shit and misses Pepper, who always knows the right thing to do in order to make life work when he's too busy making technological artifacts work.

"Okay," he sighs, raising both his hands in surrender. "I get it, I'm wasting your time here. See you".

He hasn't even turned on his heels fully when Loki calls him back. "Do not go yet," he requests, considerably less snide, if not gentle. "We are not enemies in this. There is no need for us to behave like we are".

"Really?" Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "You didn't sound very enthusiastic about being my BFF two point three seconds ago".

"I am hardly the most pleasant person to talk to at the moment," which is the first thing Tony is sure the god isn't lying about. "I do mean my words, though. I will lend you my help in dealing with them if you promise that you will return the favor when I find it most fitting".

Nodding, the man forces himself not to make assumptions about the price he will have to pay. Loki doesn't speak again, Tony does: "Well, first things first: who are them? Who are they actually? Spare me their titles and other shit – I need more than that".

The god doesn't look as satisfied as the Midgardian anticipated he would be – he's collected and thoughtful, not victorious. "Ullr is Sif's son," he begins slowly and scoffs at the expression written over Tony's face. "You have seen her, the female warrior in the throne hall. She would not tell who is his father, nor would Ullr himself". He furrows his brows, bores his eyes into the Midgardian's skin, doesn't actually see him. He sees Sif or Ullr instead, Tony isn't certain which of them. Maybe both. "He has been raised in the Vanir realm, which has been an ally to Asgard for centuries, and does not trust Titania nor Malekith. The Elves are perilous creatures. Volatile, unpredictable, deceptive. For the time being, they uphold the truce between their realms and Asgard. As for Mephisto, he is here for the fun, you should not take him too seriously. Lastly, Hela is a daughter of mine. Odin made her become the queen of the dead and she has hated him ever since".

Tony files away all the information for later and moves to another pressing matter. "What's their game then? Why did you plead guilty?"

He expects Loki to stall and again the god surprises him by answering straightaway: "The All-Father is obstinate: he is always calling them _allies_, but in truth, he reigns over them and the sway he holds is not always strong. He is obsessed with peace and will not see the defeat coming until it is too late".

The Midgardian recognizes that tone, the same tone he would use when Howard didn't listen to him, even though he was right.

How many times did Loki try to give his father advice and how many times was he turned down?

Tony already knows the answer. Countless. So many, many times that at last he broke.

Their eyes lock, the god frowns, the man wonders how the hell he does it, how he always knows what he's thinking, parts his lips to say something, Loki speaks first, apparently accepting that Tony can understand him as well as he can see right through the Midgardian in turn, or maybe just deciding to ignore it. "He is blind, oblivious to the fact that he has welcomed potential enemies to the capital. My pleading guilty will speed up the process and they will not be able to plot against Asgard from its insides, as they hoped".

It takes Tony less than a second to proceed those details. Less than a second later, his eyes go wide with stupor and his jaw drops to the floor. "You're, like, you're practically saying you're sacrificing yourself for them!"

He wants to use _the people you claim to hate_ instead of _them_, he wants to use _your family_. He only says _them_.

The god doesn't move, his expression doesn't change, he doesn't even have a twitch of some sort. "I do what is required for the good of Asgard," he replies matter-of-factly.

Tony's brain is racing so fast that he's astounded Loki can't hear it; there are gears grinding and levers ticking in the shape of queries, doubts and thoughts, the first and foremost being to what extent he can trust the god's words and that's the one he spills out tactlessly. "Why should I believe you aren't lying?"

"I can give you only my word," Loki replies levelly.

"Which isn't much, considering they call you _Silvertongue_," the man objects, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rogers would punch him in the face if he said okay, Banner would hulk out and Hulk would eat his head, Barton and Natasha would use their mortal combat skills to knock him out in fifteen ways, and _Pepper_ – he shivers at the prospect of her being angry. Pepper would most likely cut his limbs off one by one and feed them to Fury for sending him on Asgard in the first place.

He shrugs and says: "Okay".

He isn't sure whether it's what he wants or the worst mistake he could ever think of, but it feels better than playing hide-and-seek with the delegates. He has never been a particularly patient or prudent man, he reminds himself, so no one can really blame him for being his usual self. In his opinion, it would have been legitimate if he had refused Loki's offer, because, hey, how can that be Tony-like at all?

**Let's become friends: follow me on tumblr, my nick is mrevilside!**


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly Loki grins and looks much more like the crazed god who tried to enslave humanity and threw Tony out of a window. It is oddly reassuring after a tough revelation such as that Loki has given up freedom – as unlikely a possibility as it may have been – for his family's sake, be it true or not.

"Why thank you, Tony Stark," the god drawls in an almost seductive voice. Or maybe Tony is just imagining things. "I was sure you would accept".

"As long as you don't try to cheat," the Midgardian warns him in a rigid tone.

"We will have a very long time to work together, then," Loki replies confidently. "Now, in order to prove you my good intentions, I intend to let you know whom you can trust among them".

Tony raises his eyebrows comically. "Something tells me it isn't a very long list. You've already advised me against your dark elf friend".

The god knits his eyebrows together and shoots him a grim look. "Do listen to me, Stark. Malekith is perhaps the most dangerous of them. What could stop them wouldn't stop him. You must be very careful".

Tony isn't so naïve as to call him _frightened_, but right now the god's as close to that definition as the man has ever seen him. He nods, raises his hands to calm him down, reassures him, "Okay, I'll keep an eye on him, just don't freak out," and shrugs, because, man, doesn't Loki sound like his mother when he scolds him. "Any ideas about what he's aiming at?"

"The Casket of Ancient Winters," is the offhanded reply. "It is an extremely powerful magical device which empowers Jötunheimr".

"I bet my suit they keep it here in Asgard," Tony guesses.

"Yes. It is one of the main reasons why I have to end the trial as soon as possible," Loki confirms with a nod, as if _end the trial as soon as possible_ doesn't mean _end myself as soon as possible_, and it _hurts_.

"So that's your plan?" Tony can't help the pissed off edge of his voice; as much as he doesn't like the god, he doesn't want him to die if he can have a say in the matter. He's seen too many people die and he's even responsible for some of those deaths. "You get beheaded and everyone lives happily ever after? You know what, sounds like shit to me".

"Which is precisely why I have asked for your cooperation," Loki agrees dryly. "What would you have me do, Stark? Of course, I cannot consider escaping – there is too much at stake for me to flee to the other side of the universe, which is why I have asked both you and Mephisto to lend me your assistance and I highly suggest you do not trust anyone else besides the demon and Thor".

"Okay, okay". The man scratches his goatee, a habit of his that helps him recap things. "So, Mephisto and Thor are our best friends and this Casket of Whatever Fuck is off-limits material for Malekith the Evil One. And I have to sort out a way for you not to be killed without getting you out of here". He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets his brain work its magic. _Speaking of which_. "Hey, what about your magic? You used you it last night, didn't you? How come you can't tap into some mojo witchcraft to solve this as well?"

"It was not my magic," the god says simply, as if it's the most obvious reason in the world. As Tony is about to arch an eyebrow, Loki adds mercifully: "There are different kinds of magical power in the Nine Realms. A warlock can master more than one, but the type they are gifted with at their birth is the most natural for them. My magic is called _seidhr_, whereas the one I cast a spell with last night was infernal magic I had been lent by Mephisto. My _seidhr _was sealed by Odin upon my arrival and therefore cannot be reached".

There it is, that excruciating pain no word can truly express, the pain of a maimed man clinging onto his cut off arm as though he can put it back in place if he hopes enough: it shows briefly on the god's face in the shape of a hollow void in his eyes, then it's gone, Tony blinks, wonders if it's ever been there at all and it has.

"Fine, no magic then," he sums up, rubbing a hand against his scalp in exasperation. "Anything else I should know?"

Loki doesn't answer readily; he watches him in silent contemplation and Tony stares back, both minds racing at the same pace, both of them well aware of it, of how much they are alike. That is perhaps why in the end the god blurts out, quiet: "Have you been told about Thanos?" He pauses, raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps you know him as the Other".

Tony's eyes lighten with what can only be described as greedy hunger for knowledge. "They've mentioned you being in cahoots with him, right?"

Loki nods; he doesn't avoid his gaze, but the topic obviously infuriates him, if the tension in his shoulders and his teeth gritting in the dim light like pearly-white knives are anything to go by. "He is Death's very companion and the Chitauri's general. After I was exiled, he found me and offered me a deal: if I gave him the other worlds, he would give me Midgard. At first I deemed it madness". He scoffs, but Tony wonders whether he's mocking himself or the Other. "Then he showed me the Tesseract".

"Is it how he managed to mind-control you?"

"_Mind-control_ is an improper word," Loki corrects him. "Controlling one's mind means you can make them do what you desire; my experience was quite different. The Tesseract… She re-shaped my mind to her likings and persuaded me to believe her plans were my own and she was a mere tool through which I would achieve my goals, although it was the other way around. However, she gave me the power to engage in war with Midgard".

Tony's eyes go wide – he has always been quick at putting two and two together. "You mean, if it hadn't been for the Tesseract, you wouldn't have attacked us?"

For a brief moment, he wonders what he'd do, if Loki said yes, wonders if he'd find his deeds any less unforgivable, any less frightening. So many deaths, so much destruction that the god would have avoided if he had been able to—

By the time Loki shakes his head, Tony hasn't found an answer yet and dismisses the thought. Maybe it's for the better.

"The Tesseract re-shapes, does not create out of nowhere. Not even she possesses such power," the god states simply and that settles the matter, with neither of them wanting to investigate it any further. Their alliance is feeble enough as it is. "Thanos will come seeking revenge. The Chitauri you defeated on Midgard were only a small troop compared to the army he has at his disposal and I do not even know if he has allies among the other worlds. There is a war coming and I fear Asgard is not ready for it".

Tony's self-control falters at that. It isn't like he got over New York easily – it isn't like he's gotten over it _at all_ already; it isn't like he didn't lock himself up in his lab for seventy-two hours straight before Fury hacked Jarvis – or, better, Jarvis allowed himself to get hacked out of the concern that his master wouldn't get out ever again of his own accord – and told him – scratch that, _yelled at him_ – he would go to Asgard as a representative; it isn't like he didn't do some therapy with a psychiatrist in-between the H.A.M.M.E.R. incident and New York. It isn't like he doesn't still have nightmares. He is good at hiding his discomfort, yet it isn't like it isn't there, lurking in the furthest corner of his mind, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pop out and say hello, especially when the word _war_ is hanging above his head like the Sword of Damocles.

Iron Man might be a hero; on the other hand, Tony Stark is nothing but a man. As any man, sometimes even he feels like praying.

_Please, let there not be a war._

When he finds it in himself to reply, his voice is pathetically low, the whisper of a scared child. "Why didn't you tell them? What are you telling me for?"

"Oddly enough, you listen, Stark".

The Midgardian hears it in Loki's voice that he's being inspected intensely without needing to look at the god – which he'd rather not do at the moment, not when he's feeling so vulnerable and the floor seems so much more appealing than Loki's sharp gaze.

"You listened, and are listened to. Much more often than I would ever hope to be, in any case".

"You want me to tell Odin about this on your behalf," Tony translates, unable to hide his skepticism. "Err, you do have a back-up plan, don't you?"

"Stark…"

Tony doesn't listen. Figures. "Because that's really a bad idea— no, it's an awful, dire, omin—"

Loki snarls, his eyes alight with irritation. "_Stark_". The Midgardian finally graces him with silence and he remarks: "I do not want you to tell Odin about _any_ of this. In fact, I was about to say so, if only you would let me".

The man blinks, because that just doesn't sound right. If the god intends to keep a war away from the All-Father, it means either he has no intentions of partaking as an ally to Asgard or he—

"It is not what you might think. I do not deem it necessary to worry Odin now that he is already dealing with the nine dimensions since I can very well take care of this on my own".

His train of thought crashes miserably and Tony blinks and wonders _oh, fuck, does he even read minds? Son of a bitch. Wait. If he hears this, I'm fucked_, what with Loki's family issues he keeps forgetting about.

Instead of hurling himself at him or killing him on the spot with his burning gaze, the god threatens him with a twisted eyebrow. "Stark? Did you hear me?"

So he can't read minds. "Yeah, sure, sorry, I just got… distracted". The shade of relief tingeing his voice fades away as soon as he focuses back on the matter at hand and a doubtful frown settles on his features. "Anyway, I must have missed something here. How exactly do you plan to "take care of this"? With whose army?"

The reference makes Loki smirk. "I do not require any army this time, only that you do me a favor".

"Something tells me I'm not going to like it, so just cut it short. The sooner, the better, like an injection". A mocking grimace plastered on his face, he feigns a mixture of terror and anticipation that might or might not resemble quite strongly the way he feels whenever he actually has injection time – he ascribes it to Afghanistan, Pepper remembers him being that way far before the whole Ten Rings ordeal.

"I need you to retrieve the Casket of Ancient Winters for me".

_Ouch_, it does sting – more than an injection, less than getting your tooth pulled out. Tony _knew_ he'd hate it; for once, though, he doesn't feel like bragging about his always being right. Not when he's actually considering becoming a thief in a foreign world.

"I thought Malekith was the one who wanted this Casket," he retorts warily. "Just saying, 'cause I'd love to skip the part where I betray my friends' trust for you and you conquer the world with your _hocus pocus_".

Loki bares his teeth in an almost comical hybrid between a growl and a grin. _Almost_, seeing that he seems more annoyed than peaceful. Maybe comparing him to Malekith won't win Tony's Best Idea Of The Year Award.

"Malekith does not own the Casket nor does Asgard," the god objects, scathing and unforgiving. "It belongs to me since I won it from its previous possessor in duel. Is it not just that I wish to be given back what is rightfully mine?" Tony's struck with the image of himself talking about Iron Man and no, he's not finding analogies between the two of them. He isn't like Loki, he is one of the good guys – _he has made too much effort not to be_. Loki pierces him with a no-nonsense stare. "I need my _seidhr_, Stark. It is the only way I can deal with the Other. Are you going to help me or not?"

And this is when Tony turns him down, gives up on their collaboration and leaves the cell in long, resolute strides. This is when Loki is still the villain and he can still call himself a hero.

This is when none of that shit will ever stand a chance against Thanos and Malekith and whatnot and Tony knows what he has to say and he says it: "Okay, I'll see what I can do about it".

At first surprised, the god then squares his jaw and nods in acquiescence. "Thank you".

The man waves away his gratitude. "Don't. How do I contact you?"

"You will have no reason to. The Casket will show you what to do," Loki answers cryptically and fixes his gaze on the door behind his guest's shoulder. "It is wise that you leave now. The longer you stay, the more suspicious they become". His magnetic green eyes flicker back to Tony as he drops his head to the side in way of greeting. "Do the deed as soon as you can, when they least expect it".

As if he needs to be reminded of how wrong what he's going to do is.

After the Midgardian's parting, the god lowers his head – the bonds make it hard to keep it lifted up all the time – and rests his chin against his chest, heaving a long, exhausted sigh. He tugs at the chains, his muscles stiffen, his veins stand out – blue against his white skin, Jötunn against Asgardian – but to no avail. It proves nothing more than the right method to wound himself further.

He strives for freedom and deep inside knows he needs confinement for the time being.

He just doesn't have to like the notion.

He wonders whether he can trust Stark to do what they have just agreed on. If the Midgardian's heart refused the influence of the Tesseract, he reassures himself, it means he can, bitter as it is to recognize the mortal's heart is better than his. Broken yet fixed, yielded yet unyielding, crushed yet still beating furiously in his chest – Loki envies Stark such a heart.

Tony finds the guard still waiting for him outside. The Asgardian forces himself not to gape at the sight of him unharmed and with all his limbs still in place. "Is everything fine, my lord?" he asks warily, shooting the door a look, as though monsters are about to pour out and slay them both.

Tony chews over the question seriously. Is he fine? Dragged to Asgard against his will, deceived by most of the people he met, forced to take the side of one Loki Laufeyson, who almost accomplished killing him. "I suppose I've been better," he mutters to himself more than to the soldier, who nods in polite understanding although he doesn't know anything, assuming that Loki's the primal cause of Tony's discomfort – which isn't entirely wrong, but not entirely true either, and Tony is a perfectionist. He's a genius, after all.

"I will escort you back to the throne all now, my lord," the watchman announces a tad too hastily, impatience written all over his face.

Tony is tempted to be an asshole and loiter, but the poor man – well, _immortal_ man, but still – is only trying to do his job, so he gives up on his evil plan and gestures for him to go first.

His comeback hushes the whispers coming from the delegates' side of the room. Thor and Odin are debating something in quiet voices, while Frigga listens attentively, the perfect picture of the united family.

The Queen of Asgard is the first of them to acknowledge his presence and her heartbreakingly hopeful gaze makes his heart sink in his chest.

He can tolerate lying to Thor and Odin; he doesn't know if he can do the same to Frigga.

Since when are mothers his soft spot, anyway, he wonders irritably as the guard introduces him with a deep bow and closes the doors behind him with a loud thud.

Odin fixes him with a piercing stare, as though he's trying to rip Tony's soul apart to make sure he doesn't dare lie to the All-Father. Which is highly unadvisable and unbelievably idiotic, and Tony's going to do it nonetheless.

"What is it Loki Laufeyson has told you, Anthony Stark?" Odin drawls, stressing every single syllable in the most effective display of solemn, wise and old Tony has ever heard.

Tony hopes he sounds as convincing. "The same as he told you, I fear," he replies, opening his arms in impotence. "He's still pleading guilty. I couldn't get any other word out of him".

Frigga turns her head to conceal her expression, Thor cringes, which is both comical and grotesque given his tonnage, and Odin purses his lips in a hardly readable reaction, as per usual. He takes his time before he speaks again, as if he hopes that Tony will add something, anything, only there's nothing else, except that he's going to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters, but he's not about to tell them about _that_ of course. At last, the All-Father surrenders and declares: "I will consult my wife in private, then, and the court will sentence him soon after".

Tony pries on the delegates' faces to gauge their reactions, but they're as indecipherable as any good politician must be. Once again, Tony knows he won't ever make a good politician. He's quite fond of his humanity.

Since everyone is standing up and leaving their bench, the man takes it as a permission to go as well, but he hasn't even stood up fully when he hears Thor's boisterous voice calling him and feels one of his huge hands slamming against his fragile spine: "Let us walk together, my friend!"

Tony has the distinct feeling his bones might have just cracked and remembers that he's still mad at the God of Thunder. "Sure," he accepts in a blank tone, brushing the Asgardian's hand off of him.

Thor's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as they make their exit from the room. "Are you alright?"

The Midgardian snorts icily: "Never been better".

_Icily_ may or may not be a big word, considering the Thunderer has an amazing set of puppy eyes it's almost impossible to be angry with him for longer than twenty point three seconds – Tony doesn't know if he does it on instinct or if that's part of the Asgardian training.

The God of Thunder blinks, confusion obvious on his face to the point that he looks ridiculous. "Did I do anything to upset you, Tony?"

Tony sighs, runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I feel like a stupid piece of shit when I'm the only one in the fucking tribunal who doesn't know what the fuck's happening there". God, doesn't he sound miserable. He wants to stop, but his brain can't caught up with his tongue, which, speaking of Tony Stark, really is something. "When were you going to tell me about this "Other" you were talking about? Any sooner than my eightieth birthday? 'Cause really, pal, take it easy! Other people are making a fool of themselves but, honestly, who cares? I don't care! What did you have for lunch today?"

Overwhelmed by such an unrelenting stream of irritation, Thor just gapes at him, his jaw hanging open in both discomfort and slow – very, very slow, in Tony's humble opinion – realization.

Tony takes advantage of it to talk, spit, hiss until his vocal chords feel sore and his breath comes in short gasps and he can't find it in himself to assault him any longer. When he tightens his lips and makes a mess of his already crumpled hair with both hands, the God of Thunder's expression is soft and apologetic, makes the man's heart break a little, because he should have puked such awfulness in one of his true enemies' face instead of piling all of his fucked up shit on one of his few allies' shoulders.

They raise their hands and speak in unison. "Hey, Thor—"

"You are right—"

They both look up and stare at each other stupidly until Tony cracks a smile and waits, and Thor restarts: "I have neglected you as of late and I have not provided you the information you had any right to possess. I will not justify myself, although there are reasons behind my doing. In any case, I was wrong and I hereby beg your forgiveness".

The man's relaxed expression all but quivers and fades as he fights to hold guilt back, because the Thunderer is the last man in the whole fucking universe who should _beg_ anything of him, of Tony Motherfucker Stark who cut a deal with his adored, evil younger brother and is planning to stab a dagger in the God of Thunder's kidneys when he turns. If the previous outburst of rage left him drained and upset, the remorse that's consuming him now makes him feel sick and wretched.

The worst part is, he has to accept his apology as if he isn't wrong and Thor isn't right and even _forgive_ him when it should be the other way around.

"Don't worry, Point Break". He pats his shoulder friendly and manages a companionable grin that he'd skin off his own face with a dagger if he could see it. "Look, I shouldn't have eaten you alive like that. You didn't deserve it. It's this whole thing…" He encompasses the hallway they're traversing with a vague motion of his hand. "It's driving me mad. I'm not used to…" _Political intrigues, political assholes, political everything_.

The God of Thunder offers his empathy in the shape of a helpless shrug. "Would that I could take your burden upon myself, my friend," and that's when the donut replacing Tony's heart finally crashes with a loud pop.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn't deserve his friends; sometimes he _knows _it.

"Unfortunately, I cannot, I even have to make it even heavier," Thor goes on in a quiet, mortified tone. "As I said, I had reasons for wronging you. Loki and I met".

How can anyone put so much love and despair and sorrow in four words?

The Midgardian doesn't push him – he knows what it feels like and, well, he's not quite fond of sentimentalities. He doesn't _feel_ feelings, much less _talk_ them. He just doesn't know how to handle them and he hates not knowing – here's a bit of a _déjà-vu_, he muses to himself.

The Thunderer clears his throat and stops suddenly; it takes Tony a few more steps on cruise control to realize the Asgardian is standing in front of his bedroom's door. When they even got there is beyond him.

"We agreed that I would try to get as many delegates as possible on our side". Thor frowns and looks at his big, empty hands with the same betrayed expression as earlier in the throne hall. "And then he did _this_. Did he tell you why? I thought he would trust me at least this once. If he has told you anything of any value, please…"

Tony can't take his puppy eyes anymore and holds out a hand to silence him. "Okay, I've got it. I'm sorry, really sorry, but he didn't say anything. You know how tight-lipped he can be. It's not like he wants to be buddy-buddy with me".

He has to shove each word out of his mouth and he can't stand the pained look crossing the Thunderer's features as any hope that might be left in him shatters under Tony's implacable retort.

It's cruel and Thor doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve _him_, and yet the war's hovering over them and Tony is scared and he is sorry and he wishes the God of Thunder would forgive him if he had any glint about what is to come.

Only he doesn't, and Tony has to swallow down the truth and bear to be looked at with candid, sincere affection.


	6. Chapter 6

Thor purses his lips, clearly disappointed, but he does his best to smile anyway. "Actually, I did not expect Loki to give his secrets away so easily, as desperate as he might be. I am allowed to hope, though, aren't I?" For all his height and might, he looks so damn young and defenseless right now that Tony would sell his heart for a bunch of candies if it meant he wouldn't have to stand _that_.

Then the God of Thunder clears his throat, squares his shoulders and takes on a grave expression – after meeting his father, Tony can see how they are alike and seriously, how did Loki _never_ notice he was adopted?

"Enough talking about me," the Thunderer says, looking away in embarrassment for a moment. "I am sure you have waited long enough to be informed about Thanos properly. I would suggest we speak in your bedchambers. Such matters do not suit a servant's ears".

"Oh…" Well, that's going to take a lot more effort to explain. "You know, actually, I don't need you to spill this Thanos's little secrets anymore. Uh, blame Loki for it".

"Oh," Thor echoes him, his eyes widening at the revelation. "I am surprised my brother chose to help you of his own volition".

"I'm sure he was just laughing at me because I was pissed off," Tony shrugs and doesn't feel bad this time, because he isn't lying. The day Loki misses an opportunity to make a fool of somebody is the day Tony has grown too old for the world. "Don't speculate too much on everything he does. It's what he wants: he messes with your head, makes you think he's _always_ up to something so that you _always_ try to figure out his schemes and then, hey, he fucks you. Simple and clean, just like that".

His friend draws his brows together both in confusion and slight indignation that his brother, the Second Prince of Asgard, is the subject of such poorly-phrased argument and Tony has to pay his brain for it to prevent his facial muscles from laughing. Fortunately, he's a billionaire.

"There is truth in what you say, perhaps," the God of Thunder admits. "Though I was raised with him and I know what he is capable of, especially under such dire circumstances".

"Have you two ever experienced a trial involving either of you before?"

The Thunderer's frown deepens. "No".

"Then how can you be so sure about what he's going to do? What's more, he's the God of _Chaos_, right? You can't just expect him to follow the rules".

Tony doesn't want to have a Loki-based conversation with _Thor_ of all people. Not only because he's secretly planning to steal some magical artifact on Loki's behalf; it's mostly because _Thor_.

Thor loves his brother in a deafening, blinding way that makes him slam his head against countless walls, blind to the obvious, painful truth that the feeling isn't mutual. Tony is nothing like that: he smirks, declares that love comes always right after his benefit and deep inside loves discreetly, unnoticeably, even, but with the unwavering strength of the sea.

Thor doesn't even try to shield himself from disappointment, which Tony finds delusional; on the other hand, Tony never lets anyone in for fear his defenses aren't enough, which Thor finds laughable.

Unexpectedly, the God of Thunder's scowl breaks into a warm, somewhat nostalgic smile. "You have a very sharp mind, Tony. You remind me of him, of the way we once were. He was always the one reprimanding me for my naivety, as you just did". A surprisingly low noise resembling a chuckle leaves his mouth and he pats Tony's arm endearingly. "You give me hope, Tony Stark. Hope that he will someday regain his sanity. To become the Man of Iron, you must have been through dark things, like I did to prove myself worthy of my hammer, and yet you have been able to put yourself together. You give me hope that Loki can do it as well".

Tony is suddenly struck by an idea – an awful, clever idea.

At first he dismisses it, ashamed that he even thought about it; after being completely unsuccessful at pretending he's forgotten about it, he retrieves it from the dark corner he's pushed it into, chews it over and shivers internally, because he's a horrible person indeed.

A true hero would have never conjured up such a plan in the first place, though, so there's really no point in wallowing in self-pity now. Not that he has ever considered himself a true hero, by the way.

He built a can he could fit into because he needed to escape from a cave full of terrorists; he turned it into a high-tech suit because he was bored; he became Iron Man because he thought the name had a nice ring to it. It isn't like he _wanted_ to join the Avengers. Hell, Thor practically _rained_ over him.

Okay, so maybe he's a shitty hero. At least he hoped he'd be a good man. _Figures_.

Whatever's wrong with him, it must have to do with his DNA – he just can't seem to make the right choices. Ever.

"Why don't you go and talk to him?" he suggests, opening his arms, palms facing the sky in a display of perplexity. "Quite easy, isn't it? You try to talk him out of pleading guilty, maybe he listens and you save his ass. Doesn't it sound awesome?"

Thor doesn't look very enthusiastic at the prospect. "Loki lied to me the last time I tried to talk to him. He always outsmarts me with his wordplay. What could I ever hope to accomplish?"

"Maybe nothing," Tony has to admit, because the Thunderer isn't just the honest, gullible blonde guy next door. You can't just make a fool of Thor and get away with it, as gentle and loyal as he might be. "Or, maybe you can find out why he's doing this. His perspective on the whole ordeal. Wouldn't it be something for a start? You won't be able to help him if you know nothing at all. One percent is always better than zero".

The God of Thunder lights up at that, hopeful. Why wouldn't he? Tony is one of his friends, he is supposed to tell him the truth. Tony pushes the stinging guilt away and wears his best poker face.

He's made his bed, now he'd better lie on it, although it's stuffed with thorns and daggers.

"Perhaps you are right, friend Tony," the Thunderer murmurs, as if the small flicker of hope warming his heart would disappear into thin air if he spoke too loudly. "I may try what you suggest now, before the All-Father finishes to consult my mother".

Want to get Thor to cooperate? Why, of course name the one guy he is always rambling about for hours on end.

"Sounds fine," Tony agrees, nodding. "If you get anything out of him, you can tell your father and basically save the day, and then the four of you can live happily ever after".

Thor smiles, bright and cheerful, and gives him an apologetic smile. "I must admit, I was not very enthusiastic when Director Fury told me you would partake in the trial. Out of all the Avengers, I feared you were the most reckless. Now, though, I blame myself for judging you so poorly. You truly are a clever, precious man, Tony Stark. I am thankful for meeting you as an ally rather than an enemy".

_So far_, Tony's brain can't help but end the sentence. _Stupid brain_. Tony shuts it up, sends it on a vacation. Or, he would, if he didn't need it badly not to get himself killed.

"Hey, bro, are you trying to woo me or something?" A cheeky smile plastered on his face, he places his hand on the Thunderer's solid arm and squeezes his bicep, because that muscle must be fake. It isn't and his fingertips hurt a little as well as his pride. "Because I'd be totally fine with it, but I'm not sure Pepper would appreciate the idea".

The God of Thunder bursts into laughter and shakes his head in amused disapproval. "Worry not, my friend, I am not trying to lure you into my bedchambers!"

They share goofy, comradely grins and snicker childishly for a few moments, then Tony clears his throat – because that's starting to feel awkward – and points towards the hallway: "So, you'd better be going now? I'll see you later, Point Break".

Thor's smile stays on, albeit it takes on a slightly nervous edge, and he bows his head gravely. "Sure, Tony. See you later then".

As he walks away, Tony contemplates his broad shoulders and tries to recall when he has seen him nervous before. He can't remember. For some reason, it makes him feel even more miserable, if that's even possible.

_Wise idea, Stark. I was wondering when you would get rid of him._

One might believe you get used to strange voices appearing out of nowhere; you don't. You never do. Last year, his therapist assured him that he wasn't "batshit crazy" – as he so eloquently put it himself – he just suffered from occasional emotional breakdowns. It wasn't like he heard voices or saw things that weren't actually there, she said. Tony would love to know what she'd say if she knew about _this_.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he flees into his bedroom, shuts the door behind him and checks his surroundings to make sure he is alone. _You could have warned me you'd hang around in my brain for a while_, he remarks sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest.

_I was not sure it would work. The amount of infernal magic left at my disposal is very small, hence why I cannot take a physical body to communicate, but I am restricted to affecting your mind with telepathy._

Tony slaps a hand against his face. He needs coffee. He remembers there is no coffee in Asgard and sighs.

Long stay in a coffee-less dimension is _long_.

_I take it you've been overhearing everything?_, he snaps rather irritably, the god's prying into his and Thor's business rousing his annoyance.

Mischievous amusement creeps into Loki's silk-like voice as he perceives the Midgardian's discomfort. _What now, Stark? Did you deceive yourself into believing I would not make sure you do as you promised?_

Tony doesn't like the inkling of appreciation he feels for that voice. Right now, he hates his tastes and blames the lack of caffeine in his system for that sensation leak. _Well, since you're at it, what about you help me? For one, you could tell me where your precious Casket is._

_This is the very first agreeable thing you have ever said_, the god replies in a plain tone. _I must warn you, though, this may be dangerous. Subtlety is essential. No unnecessary violence, no antics and absolutely no smashing of sorts._

_Is this some kind of Hulk-related PTSD or what?_

He can practically see Loki fuming and the image slightly makes up for his previous complimenting the god's voice, prompting him to grin like a fool. _Your wit will kill you sooner or later, Tony Stark. You are lucky that I need your services. I am not particularly fond of being made a fool of._

_Someone here doesn't want to admit they have issues_, the man singsongs half-heartedly. Since the god can't kill him for the time being, why not capitalize on it?

Loki snarls something in return, but Tony isn't listening anymore, instead ascertaining his bracelets are okay and Iron Man is at the ready should he require aid. The armor wouldn't go unnoticed if he summoned it, though he isn't going to give up on it because _Loki_ forbade it. Please, he doesn't obey to _Pepper_.

_You are insufferable, Tony Stark_, is more or less when he tunes in again.

_Okay, so, where's your toy? _He retrieves his suitcase from under the bed and plucks a thin, metallic ear set sporting a monocle out of it. The band hugs his forehead just right, the eyeglass hanging in front of his left eye, the earplug coming to life in a matter of milliseconds.

"_Hello, sir,_" Jarvis's familiar voice greets him and Tony suddenly feels considerably happier.

"Hey, Jay," he answers, endearing, and brushes his fingers against the thin microphone. It's like he has a little piece of home with him now, it feels nice. "How are you, pal?"

"_I'm quite fine, sir, thank you for your concern_".

How he loves the AI's British accent – suddenly, it strikes him that it is very similar to Loki's own, which dampens his enthusiasm, though only slightly. Goddamn alien god, isn't he supposed to have some strange, ugly-sounding otherworldly accent? Does he speak English so damn Britishly on purpose to piss him off?

_Would that I was interesting enough for you to pay attention to my words_, Loki spits, voice considerably louder despite it being calm and composed – taking advantage of his magic to deafen him, the fucker.

_Oh, yeah, sorry, I was busy switching on Jarvis, you know_, Tony shrugs, doesn't bother feigning an apologetic tone. Well, if one has a tone when they're thinking. That's one hell of an enigma now and he's about to forget about the god again, but manages not to before the anger kills Loki and Thor blames him for it. _Sorry, really, I'll be more attentive now. Just give me the whereabouts and I'll be on my way._

_Sure_, Loki growls and sighs simultaneously. How he does that is beyond Tony's wildest imagination. Maybe he took lessons from Pepper.

Then the god starts talking business: he instructs the man accurately, for once the Midgardian listens and pretends he is taking an aimless stroll to kill the time, whereas Jarvis scans the area to let him know if anyone is in the vicinity in order for him to avoid them.

Oddly enough, the deeper into the palace he ventures, the less people he comes across – or, for the sake of precision, the less they come across the AI's radar.

_Hey, is it some sort of Asgardian tradition to leave powerful magical contraptions unguarded?_, he asks after rounding a corner and pausing in front of a double leaf door that, by Loki's explanation, leads to the weaponry. Jarvis reports no life signs in a forty-two feet's range and, really, this is getting ridiculous.

_Be careful_, the god repeats, eluding the question for some reason. _You may encounter the Destroyer, a seemingly invincible being that watches over the riches of Asgard. Thor wrecked it in battle last year, though I do not know if the Dwarves rebuilt it._

The amazingly detailed incisions wrought into the wood are surprisingly smooth under his touch, flawless and savagely beautiful in their depiction of war and blood, victory and defeat, death and glory. There is no need to force the door open: the doorknob rotates as if of its own volition and one of the shutters sways open silently.

There is no deadly Destroyer waiting for him. On the other hand, the Casket of Ancient Winters glows sky blue on the other end of the hall, perched on a marble pedestal. Many other peculiar weapons are aligned on the wall, some stowed in niches, others neatly stockpiled on grids; Tony recognizes none of them, not that he is really paying attention – he hardly spares them a glance as he hurries towards the chest, unable to contain his relief and sense of triumph.

If they want to make it so easy, he has no right to argue.

_I got it_, he declares victoriously as he comes to a halt in front of the Casket and reaches out for its handles. He stops mid-air when he receives no response, his fingers mere inches away from his target. _Loki?_

Nothing.

His mind has gone dreadfully quiet.

He puckers his lips, but doesn't call for the god again, knowing all too well he won't answer. Something is very, very wrong. Tony stares at the chest for a few seconds, grunts an expletive through gritted teeth and grabs it with both hands to raise it from its support—

Albeit the pedestal – and the entire weaponry, for that matter – isn't there anymore. Tony isn't there anymore.

Back in Loki's cell, which is now lighted by some torches, he bears witness to a very unusual scene: Loki is still chained to the wall, which is for the better, with Thor in front of him, which is for the best, only the Thunderer is standing _between_ his brother and four individuals like no other Tony has ever laid eyes on, all wielding spears and elaborated, menacing black ornaments, which might be for the worst.

Almost as tall as the ceiling, all blue skin and dark tribal tattoos spiraling down their bare chests and limbs, they are unequivocally Frost Giants.

The Midgardian's gaze hops back and forth between them and Loki, but he can't see any analogy between them and wonders mindlessly whether it is some ever-lasting spell the God of Mischief has cast upon himself to make him look like an Asgardian rather than one of his true kind.

He files away the doubt for later, as interesting as it is, when one of the Jötnar demands in a rumbling, threatening voice coming from the depth of an abyss: "Step aside, Prince of Asgard. We do not seek battle. We are only here to claim a right of ours". He casts a grim look at Loki. "Vengeance for our former king's death".

"You sneak into my realm like a lowly thief and dare request that I pay heed to you?" Thor is clearly incensed, blue eyes clouded with rage, hammer in hand and teeth exposed in a grimace. "Surrender your weapons now and I will consider a peaceful agreement. I have already alerted Asgard's most valiant men. Do not make regrettable decisions: you are not bound to win".

And then three things happen in unison.

One, Tony understands why no one was watching over the weaponry; two, the Frost Giant who spoke first flings himself against the God of Thunder; three, Thor growls something as he dodges the spear and the shackles restraining Loki are gone. "Get out of here, brother!"

All his weight falling down on his shaky legs suddenly, the God of Mischief wavers and catches himself before tripping over. His hair falls over his face as he presses his palm against the wall to hoist himself up and breathes in and out multiple times. He doesn't look like one who can _get out of there_, not at all. Not on his own two feet, anyway.

"The Casket," he forces out, erratic eyes peering from under his black strands. He holds out his hand and waves at him. "Bring me the Casket, Stark. _Now!_"

That definitely kicks Tony out of his puzzlement and spurs him into action. He rushes towards the God of Mischief and hands him the chest without a second thought, because even though Thor is great and the guards will come at his rescue and all, hesitation always leads to bad consequences, he already hesitated in the past and look where he is now, in the middle of a battle between aliens, bearing memories of dead men and misused technology.

As soon as Loki touches the Casket, the transfiguration is immediate and amazing.

His hands turn blue, the color pours over his arms and neck and face like oil, the tattoos flourish soon afterwards and his green eyes shines bright, alive and bloody red. He is still shorter than the other Jötnar – although still considerably taller than Tony – but his majestic deportment totally makes up for it as well as the impressive mark on his forehead.

Blacker than average symbols, it stands out like a wound: several thin tendrils displaying small thorns intertwine around a "L" written in an intricate handwriting and expand over his temples like a scar, yet a beautiful, perfect one. Never has the man come across such an exquisite piece of art and yet he can't stand looking at it for more than a few seconds, as though the mere sight of it burns.

The god all but blossoms: he stands up straight, his grip on the chest strong, his gaze blazing with resolve, green sparkles of magic dancing up and down his arms. He isn't as healthy and powerful as he was when he came to Earth, but he is close enough. Surely close enough to help Thor, which is good, Tony nods and gets ready to summon the Mark VIII and kick some Jötnar in their frozen ass. Albeit he never gets to make that call.

"Stop it," Loki orders, quiet and composed, as if there isn't some mortal fighting going on here. What is even more off-putting, though, is that he isn't addressing Thor – he's looking straight into his opponent's eyes. "Cease your useless banter. I have retrieved the Casket, there is no need to spill Asgardian blood today".

Gliding right out of Mjöllnir's range of action, far more elegantly than his tonnage suggests, the Jötunn lowers his weapon and steps back in line with his comrades, bowing his head in acquiescence.

Thor turns around, scarlet cloak swirling graciously around him, the metal of the hammer shining under the firelight. "What are you doing, Loki?" the God of Thunder asks in a daze, frantically looking between Tony and his brother in search for an explanation that's right under his nose, blatant and obvious, the only explanation he doesn't want to hear.

"Claiming what is mine, Thor," is Loki's simple, terrible answer. Briefly, his attention dart towards Tony before he holds the Thunderer's incredulous stare again. "My _seidhr_, my freedom". He pauses, licks his lips, savoring what is next, and smiles, broad and dashingly striking, yet oh so wrong and cracked. "My throne".

He makes a quick gesture and the Casket just pops out of existence; Tony gapes numbly at his now empty hands, suddenly remembers who he is and what is happening and when he looks up he is confronted with Thor's hurt expression, now aimed right at him. It's like a punch in the kidneys, only worse.

"Friend Tony?"

Now it's like someone is stepping over his heart.

And jumping on it.

Repeatedly.

"If I were you," Loki drawls in a sweet voice, his mouth curling up in a gut-wrenching smirk, "I would choose my _friends_ more wisely". Tilting his head towards the Frost Giants, he extends his hand, catches Tony's and bends forward in a mocking bow. "Unfortunately, I have other matters to tend to now. Farewell".

The last glimpse of Asgard that Tony gets is Thor's face contorting in betrayal and wrath, then he, Loki and the Jötnar dissolve, leaving betrayal and wounds and stunned silence in their wake.


	7. Chapter 7

"This is very disappointing".

"_We understand. It was unexpected, yet not beyond remedy. Unfortunately, you shall wait longer than initially anticipated_".

The first shadow turns its back on its speaker and sneers irritably. "I thought we had a deal".

"_And the deal still stands,_" the second shadow assures in a much calmer voice, unbothered by the other's resentment. "_We are disappointed ourselves, but the best course of action for the time being is to wait and see the way this twist of events develops. You shall be informed immediately if anything of value happens_".

The first shadow heaves a tolerant sigh and waves a hand in dismissal. "I hope the outcome of this will be worth the wait".

If it knew what the second shadow could do with only a twist of its fingers, it wouldn't dare to treat it as a lowly servant. If it knew the second shadow could move oceans and cause earthquakes without as much as a blink, it would fall on its knees and beg for forgiveness. The second shadow does not mention any of this, though – there will be time for that soon.

Diplomacy suits this very moment better.

"_It will,_" the second shadow promises, nodding. "_Trust us_".

* * *

Tony wants to scream.

It would be so liberating, to cry out at the top of his lungs until he doesn't have any air nor will left in him. Albeit he can't, he isn't even sure he still has lungs anywhere below his head, which is the only body part he is still aware of.

_Cold_, his brain registers. _Freezing fucking cold_.

He can't recall being so cold ever, clutches his arms against his chest in a weak attempt to warm himself up, wonders where the hell he is and how he can get out of there – in hindsight, he should have long since realized he is in Jötunheimr, but it's so cold he can't even move, let alone string together bits of information.

The storm raging around him maims his perceptions all the more, forcing him to stand still, crouched on the ground, head lowered and eyes shut, trembling and bracing himself. That is, until someone grabs him by the arm, pulls him to his feet and mutters something next to his ear, but the winds are so wild and loud he can't even hear himself grinding his teeth, so he shakes his head and refuses to move when he is prompted to.

He isn't going anywhere which isn't Hawaii, he declares with steely determination in his mind.

There are several voices talking around him in a foreign tongue he has never heard before, a cluttering noise that speaks of metal and blood and scares the shit out of him and then the grip on his arm tightens and turns white-hot and so much more painful than the cold that it elicits a surprised screech from him and a frantic fight to get rid of his persecutor.

_Do you want to get killed, Tony Stark?_, a voice resonates in his brain, loud and imposing, shutting out every other sound.

His thinking gets slower and slower, it takes him thirty seconds straight to recognize Loki and another twenty to conjure up a proper response. _What the fuck are you doing? Where are we? What did you—_

_Cease your useless babbling_, the god silences him and the suffocating agony searing through him convinces him that obeying is for the best. Actually, it is, because the grasp relents and doesn't hurt like hell anymore. _Now listen to me carefully if you hold your life dear: do not speak a single word and do what I ask of you. I will explain later, if it is possible. I assure you, this is the only way you can get out of this alive_.

Tony doesn't like such terms, despite knowing all too well he is in no position to argue, which he doesn't do, but he still doesn't like the whole fucking ordeal. The desperate need to survive bests his desire to spit a nasty retort, though, and he murmurs: _I'm freezing. I'll be dead in the next two minutes if I don't get warmer_.

_That can be arranged_.

Then something hot and soothing spreads from the ARC reactor, envelops him and chases the icy sensation away. Tony doesn't know how to handle it: it isn't exactly tangible yet not impalpable either, it's more like a breath seeping into him, into his veins, his lungs, his brain, his heart, until it encompasses and fills every single part of him to the brim and at the same time doesn't actually touch him.

He is thankful when he is handed something else, something very physical he can interface with much more easily by wrapping himself in it tightly: a heavy, long cloak with a hood shielding him from the merciless gale.

The second time the hand tugs at his arm, Tony follows the lead and works his way through the knee-high snow. It's odd to see ice everywhere, to know it is everywhere and to be unable to feel it at all; not that he is complaining, mind you, although it is quite an experience and he has yet to get used to it.

Magic. Once again, he marvels at its apparently countless usages. Whenever he's close to wrap his head around one, another ten pop out of nowhere.

In the beginning, the frostbite eating out his extremities makes it hard for him to concentrate on anything besides walking, which is pretty demanding itself; as the heating spell settles in, though, his strides get progressively more confident and his head clearer, until the fragments of his life fit back together.

That's when he wants to scream again, only he doesn't, because he likes acting like no one can call the shots around him, but he likes living more.

Little big problem there: he is hyperventilating, his heart hurls itself at his ribcage repeatedly, his pulse rushes in his ears like war drums and he gasps for air for he is almost sure he is breathing but he might be wrong and he is scared, God, he is scared and things aren't getting better and he can't calm himself down one bit and he's going to get killed, fuck, Pepper told him, she fucking _told_ him to stay with her big, pleading eyes and he said no because he felt compelled to save the Earth, even though the Earth has never done anything to save _him_ and—

Honestly, he can't decide whether he prefers getting frostbitten or having a panic attack, warm as it might be, while blindly following a squad of Frost Giants – and _Loki_, how could he possibly forget about him? – in what is very likely to be the lions' den. Snowy lions sporting teeth like unbreakable popsicles. God, he's starting to see _things_.

All of a sudden, it is just too much and he can't deal with it anymore, not on his own, not like that.

He falls on his knees and doesn't react when the hand still firmly secured around his wrist tries to drag him back up.

He can't hear anything but his heart pounding erratically, can't see anything but white hopelessness, can't care about anything but the fear, the horrible, overwhelming fear consuming him from the inside and threatening to swallow the world around him as well. _Oh my God_, he thinks and everything goes black.

Then there are images flashing under his eyelids – unforgiving battles, someone's blood sputtered on his cheek, maimed limbs scattered on the ground like grotesque flowers – and finally he screams, calls for the blackness and silence, strives to be given them back until something immensely merciful grants him his wish.

Things go quiet and blank for a while, until he wakes up to the brattling of metal against stone.

He keeps his eyes shut and pretends he doesn't exist for as long as he can, trying to force himself into non-existence just by thinking, but at last the weight around his wrists and ankles and the pulsating pain in the back of his neck persuade him that his attempts are all for naught.

He blinks once, twice and takes in his surroundings.

It's a bedroom, what passes for a luxurious one on that planet, even, a vast cave skillfully dug in what seems like the recesses of a mountain rather than a palace, what with the black rock material the walls and the furniture are made of, effulgent like a dark diamond. Despite its extent, the place is nearly empty, except for a double bed with finely built ice spires decorating its headboard, a wardrobe and a vanity table. All that black is strangely fascinating, catchy to the eye in a I-Want-To-Cut-My-Wrists-Open yet peculiarly sophisticated kind of way which suits Loki just right.

Before the thought has the time to finish forming in his mind, the god appears out of nowhere. It's nothing like Tony expected – no green smoke, no fireworks. One moment he isn't there, the next he is – simple and clean, just like that. Creepily so.

Hadn't he just recovered from a rather worrying panic attack, he wouldn't have jumped like he does; to make up for his fit of terror and vulnerability, he shoots him a defiant look and shakes his hands, making his shackles sing their macabre song.

"Hey, sunshine," he greets, voice raw and labored – _ouch_, his throat is sore, although he's spent five minutes in the cold at best before Loki put the spell on him. "What's this, an alien welcome gift? Speaking of which, where I'm being welcomed to precisely?"

"This is Jötunheimr," the god responds coolly – no lame pun intended, "the land of the Frost Giants. My people, apparently".

Tony notices he is still blue and the tattoo on his face shines darkly above his scarlet eyes. His ripped clothes have been replaced with a thin black tunic and the same ornaments as the other Jötnar, only golden and more elaborate, clearly indicating he holds a high position among them.

For all his discomfort and lingering fear, Tony couldn't tear his gaze off of him even if he wanted to: the god looks so different, so alien, so fascinating in his uniqueness that the scholar part of him – which is ninety-eight point seven percent of him, in truth – can't help but want to reach for him and touch, discover if his skin is soft, if his body temperature is lower than his own, if he has a heart pounding in his chest.

It's so wrong and twisted of him that he is ashamed, albeit he and shame don't work very well together. It's pretty much like trying to fix Dum-E with a towel: creative and _The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy_-ish but downright pointless, also because nothing can actually fix Dum-E like nothing can fix Tony's curiosity towards things that are blatantly bad for his health.

His train of thoughts crashes against Loki's deep frown. "I find your staring rather displeasing, Stark. Moreover, I very much doubt this is the Midgardian common way of thanking your savior".

The god's sarcastic approach, which he usually counterattacks gladly, proves to be more than he can handle in his current conditions. His expression goes from neutral to incensed in a split-second and all of a sudden he's yelling at Loki, making the best of the oxygen in his lungs: "_What the fuck's wrong with you, you motherfucking freak?_" He pauses only briefly in order to inhale as much air as possible and spit it all in the god's astonished face: "Savior? What the hell do you think you saved me from, you jerk? You've been lying to me the whole time, you've manipulated me to betray my friends, you've brought me _here_ and now you call yourself my _savior_?"

Loki's reaction slowly changes from mildly shocked to none at all, which is even more infuriating in Tony's opinion, because it's already depressing enough that he's screaming at him like a frightened child, not to mention if the god isn't even taken aback by his outburst of ire.

"You truly are fragile," Loki murmurs, surprisingly soft, as though he worries that he might scare him and make him run away like some terrified deer. That's what ultimately kills the man's fury and drains him of the energy to raise his voice again.

What's the point of freaking out, if he can't even get a proper reaction in return, if he is so miserable that even Loki Queen of the Drama pities him? He is exhausted, undone, broken and everything he is, thinks, feels is pain and regret. All he wants to do is lock himself in a room and cry for hours on end, until pain and regret become blissful nothingness, until the blackness he has experienced while unconscious comes back and envelops him in its awaiting arms again, this time without ever letting go of him.

It's just so much better when he isn't Tony Stark.

Only, he is.

"You are not completely wrong," Loki admits when it's obvious that the Midgardian won't make a noise. "You betrayed the Prince of Asgard's trust. If you had stayed behind, you would have been sentenced to death without a second thought. Not even your precious Thor would have lifted a finger to help you. Are you still convinced that bringing you here was not for the best?"

Tony looks up at the god's face, but his features are etched with nothing but coldness.

Everything is so damn cold in Jötunheimr.

"Why?" he rasps out, voice wary and tired, that single syllable stretched out to the utmost as though the escape of even one word physically pains him. "Why would you do that? Why would you save _me_?"

Maybe it's the desperately exhausted glance Tony throws his way, so unlike him, maybe it's just that Loki is actually expecting some gratitude and the lack of it puts him off, but the god wavers and holds his gaze intently for so long the man isn't sure Loki himself knows the answer. Then again, the god's face hardens and he scoffs disdainfully, because he is never uncertain: "I had to fulfill my end of our agreement. I do not owe you anything anymore".

It makes sense. Of course there would be no other logical reason for Loki to worry about him if not for his twisted sense of honor – or rather, his aversion for debts that he is on the beholden end of.

Strangely enough, Tony feels a tad more at ease. The God of Mischief is still selfish and possibly evil. At least an insignificant piece of the unreadable puzzle that his life has become as of late fits its place: it's both relieving and terrifying, because his subconscious is basically suggesting that he should harbor some _gratitude_ towards the god. Tony wonders if Loki is actually the craziest between the two of them, as he originally took for granted.

He scrunches up his nose and snaps, miffy: "Well, okay, maybe you saved me, thank you very much, but what about the handcuffs? Unless you have some kink I don't want to know about, I had no idea handcuffs were required to save people. Is it a cultural difference I wasn't informed about?"

"The guards did not approve of my taking you with us. They deem you an unnecessary weight," the god explains in a merciless tone. "Which, may I say, you actually proved to be when you passed out on our way here and forced me to carry you". He folds his arms over his chest and sighs, as if Tony did that on purpose. Yeah, well, fuck, as if his greatest goal in life is to be carried around bridal style by Loki. "They are suspicious, too: I had to say you are my slave and it would be a shame to risk that you revealed our plans to the Asgardians".

Which is laughable, actually, since Tony is completely clueless about said plans, despite believing quite the opposite only a few hours ago.

"Fine," he says, slow and bitter. "Now, pray tell, what are these wonderful plans you're talking about? Seems like I misunderstood your intentions when I agreed on helping you. Probably missed the line on the contract saying I'd collaborate _against _Thor. Be a pal and fill me in about that, won't you?"

Loki's jaw stiffens, his eyes narrowing to piercing red slits, his lips pressed into a firm, severe line. "It is so easy, is it not, Stark?" His voice rumbles from deep inside his chest, ire and calmness latched together in it, countless millennia of being misinterpreted and humiliated echoing through it. The voice of a resentful god that makes Tony shiver unwillingly. "To blame others for your own mistakes. I never hid my purpose and you accepted to steal the Casket for me of your own volition, fully aware that it would be considered theft at Asgard's expense. Do not dare to come and tell me you have no fault for we both know it is a lie. Would you lie to the God of Lies?"

Tony flinches and feels young and small, once again a five-year-old boy caught in his father's lab and unceremoniously kicked out of the room.

Only his father is dead and he isn't five years old anymore, people have tried to fool him and turn his own words against him for ages and he has long since learnt to play the part, so he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin up in defiant resolve.

"Okay," he replies, since there is nothing else he can really object to that. It's just the plain truth and he won't embarrass himself with denying it. "Okay, I know, I knew I was going to do something bad, I just didn't mean for it to be _that_ bad. You know what I'm talking about, so stop bullshitting me about it. Maybe you didn't lie to me, but it doesn't make you innocent. You still withheld part of the truth from me. A very consequential part of it, for that matter".

Loki looks— well, it's pretty hard to tell how he looks like in general, not to mention when he doesn't want you to. Tony is positive that the god is at least surprised, though. If that's a good or a negative thing for his well-being, he can't say yet.

"Right now," Loki utters very slowly, voice calm yet menacing, "I'd be very considerate of my life, in your place. The Frost Giants will have no qualms killing you if you give them any reason to and the best way to avoid it is to play the slave".

This is when it strikes Tony that their deal meant nothing, that the god is still after his own benefit and disregards anything and anyone that gets in his way. It should have been pretty clear by now, but he just hasn't had enough time to properly put together the latest tidbits of events until this very moment, when he is staring Loki right in the eye and the god is towering over him, far away and untouchable and unconcerned. It is sudden, and it _hurts_.

Every time somebody wounded him, Tony promised it would be the last time he allowed it; yet any time after that, it always feels like the same shit all over again, even if it's someone he isn't supposed to be that bothered about, even if it is _Loki_.

Together with the pain comes the anger, at first leveled by the predominant regret, but soon it grows and darkens and eats out any other emotion, until he is left with just that blinding rage and the steel determination to get out of there.

First things first, he recaps what he's got at his disposal – which is not much, except for the ear set that they didn't take away from him for some reason, perhaps because they didn't know what it is for. He is clueless about his surroundings, can't move around freely and his life depends on Loki's spell, which means two things: one, he needs to not upset the god; two, he has to go hunting information.

He lowers his head, bites back an unpleasant retort filled with creative expletives and evaluates his options.

Information is essential to him at the moment, so ultimately he goes for that.

"I can do that, I've played worse parts," he accepts, though begrudgingly. "In return, you'll answer my questions". Loki's eyebrows are already shooting up above his hairline, but Tony doesn't give him the time to speak: "If you don't want to talk about your plans, fine, it'll do anyway. I'll ask different questions. You owe me that at least".

"Do I?" the god huffs in a mocking voice, but by the calculating pursing of his lips the man can tell he is considering it. "Fine. Ask your questions, then. Mind you, I will only answer those which I see fit".

The Midgardian can't help but raise an eyebrow at his way of speaking. "Whatever, my lord," he scoffs derisively and gives a careless, one-shouldered shrug when Loki glares death at him.

So much for not enraging him.

In order to avoid further damage, he goes straight for the inquiry, holding out a hand to point at him: "What's that?"

"That, _what_?"

"The tattoo… painting… whatever". Tony draws circles in the air alongside his own head. "The one on your forehead. What does the "L" mean? None of your blue friends has it".

Loki touches his frown in reflex, widening his eyes and pressing his lips into a hard line. Clearly, of all the things the Midgardian could have asked, that wasn't the first he expected to hear. The man reminds him of their agreement with an eloquent glance and the god sighs: "It is no tattoo. The markings on a Jötunn's skin are unique: their meaning depends strictly on their owner's choices in life. The "L" is the initial of _løgner_, a word in the Frost Giant tongue that means _liar_, because I assassinated the former king of Jötunheimr after making a deal with him".

"Do you make a point of screwing people you have an agreement with or is it just that I was particularly unlucky, as well as this guy?" Tony mutters, still loud enough for his interlocutor to hear.

Loki arches an eyebrow, elegant and dignified. "Is that so? Why would you keep making deals with me, then?"

The man has to admit he has a point there. In truth, he doesn't know the answer himself. There is no particular reason, except the god intrigues him.

Against everything that happened to him because of Loki, against common sense and any other sense known to man, the god intrigues him. Not only his brain stirs up his curiosity – he _likes_ it, likes his brilliance, his undeniable cleverness, likes how Loki understands him almost before he even speaks a word. Sure, Pepper and Bruce can do that, too, but the god can also see right through him and bare the darkest side of him unlike anyone else can, because he is been through very similar experiences.

Loki _knows what it means_.

He is no hero, yet he fights hard to be one, no matter what it takes, no matter how many times he fails. He can emphasize with Tony drinking himself into unconsciousness because he isn't enough, with Tony dragging a missile through an alien portal and almost dying because he thinks it is the only way he can do any good.

The truth is, they are painfully alike, like Thor stated what seems like a hundred years ago.

When the Midgardian doesn't counter his question with a snarky retort, Loki locks eyes with him and realizes the exact same thing at the exact same time. They stare at each other, still and silent like statues, and Tony wonders what would happen if he reached out, if he said something, anything, if he—

Then the god lowers his gaze, adjusts his clothes and clears his throat, and the circumstances down on Tony with the weight of the world again. The moment is gone, but he still remembers how it felt, how it would have felt if either of them had tried—

_No_, he scolds himself.

There is only one thing Loki wants – power.

Tony isn't certain what he wants yet, though he knows for sure one thing he doesn't want – Loki.

There is nothing they could have tried, no way they could have had anything more than a fleeting, oddly emotional split-second of eye contact.

"Nice question, Reindeer Games. Maybe I'm a bit of a masochist," he chimes, voice dripping with fake, petulant joviality. "My turn now: how come I can't get a single word of your frozen chums ever since we landed here? I assumed there's some kind of Google translator spell going on in Asgard for everyone to understand each other, but I want to be sure".

Strangely enough, the god looks far more relaxed now than a few seconds ago, as though they have stepped back into a territory he is more familiar with. Tony pretends that he doesn't feel the same, that their bantering isn't become so old a habit it is now part of his routine.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, your intuition is impressive. Odin has conceived the Allspeaking spell to remove any linguistic barrier that might hinder negotiations with the other realms. That way, he gives them the illusion they have their own culture and tongue, independent from those of Asgard, and at the same time he cannot be tricked by their wordplay, although he can speak every language quite fluently," Loki explains. "It works only in the Realm Eternal, though".

He has barely time to end his sentence before a knock on the door draws their attention and a dutiful voice declares something in the same language Tony heard the Frost Giants communicate with when they arrived. It doesn't sound like anything the man has ever experienced and he has had his fair share of travelling all over the Earth for business over the years. Some words resemble Norwegian or Swedish somehow, but Tony has never been that much of a linguist to go further than that.

Loki's head snaps up towards the entrance as he listens, pose rigid yet flawlessly smooth, like he is made of plastic – elastic and unbreakable.

When the voice hushes, the god answers in an authoritative tone and turns towards Tony, eying him with an indecipherable expression. After a submissive response, the sound of footsteps fading into silence announces the retreat of who was probably a servant.

"What is it?" Tony wonders aloud, since the god is yet to update him and is still watching him intently.

"I have a speech to give to my people," Loki informs him, "and you will come with me for I will introduce you to them and dispel their lingering suspects. Do you think you are ready for it, Stark?"

The man rolls his eyes. "Do I look like I have a say in the matter?"

The god's lips quirk up the slightest bit. "No, you do not".


End file.
